md 


2)[F?i;3gr>)(D 


R 


emi^Liii.  mmt  ^mm 


hbl,  stx 


PZ3Hl25Wr 
iMifjMi.Plnf^®  South  pole  : 


The  Wreck  of  the 
South  Pole 

OR  \.'^ 

The  Great  Dissembler 

And  Other  Strange  Tales 


BY 

CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN 


NEW  YORK 

STREET  &  SMITH,  Publishers 

238  William  Street 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1899 

By  Street  &  Smith 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  ...  5 

The  Indestructible  Story 77 

The  Baby  Ghost 93 

Why  He  Took  Him  Along.  .         .         .         .107 

Penelope.  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         119 

What  Shall  She  Do? 131 

A  Medical  Student's  Love 153 

Written  in  Water. 163 

That  Deceptive  Telegram.  .         .         .         .         177 

The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman.  .         .         .189 

A  Chicago  Romance. 203 

The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay.  .         .211 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole, 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  SOUTH  POLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MERElyY   INTRODUCTORY. 

Readers  may  remember  the  story  told  by  an  ancient 
mariner  which  was  pubHshed  last  November.  This  was 
an  account  of  a  cruise  which  Capt.  Reynolds,  of  New 
London,  Conn.,  made  in  the  South  Seas  twenty-six  years 
ago.  This  voyage,  so  far  as  the  South  Seas  were  con- 
cerned, ended  at  the  South  Georgia  Islands,  where  the 
captain  and  his  crew  remained  until  driven  out  by  the  ice. 

These  islands  are  situated  exactly  i,ooo  miles  east  of 
Cape  Horn,  with  an  oceanic  current  running  directly  from 
the  southern  end  of  the  American  Continent  to  them. 
Here  is  the  most  beautiful  harbor  in  the  world — the  Cum- 
berland. It  is  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  lofty  moun- 
tains which  rear  their  heads  straight  upward  16,000  feet 
above  the  sea,  and  down  whose  sides  five  cataracts  flow. 
But  wild  and  rugged  as  are  those  mountain  peaks  and 
tempestuous  as  may  be  the  ocean  out  beyond,  no  storms 
are  ever  felt  within  the  harbor,  although  looking  upward 
the  sailor  can  see  them  raging  around  the  mountain  tops. 

Resting  on  the  bosom  of  the  placid  waters,  his  ship 


8  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

scarcely  moving  by  the  gentle  waves,  with  golden  sun- 
shine falling  all  around,  looking  upward  tornadoes,  rain 
and  snow  will  be  seen  raging  among  the  upper  cliffs. 

But  there  is  another  harbor  on  this  island  of  quite  a  dif- 
ferent character. 

Capt.  Reynolds  and  his  crew  anchored  in  Frenchman's 
Bay  and  there  found  a  house  built  of  ship's  cabin  timber, 
every  inch  of  which  was  carved  with  the  history  of  four 
men,  who  had  been  lost  off  Cape  Horn  and  their  vessel 
carried  by  the  current  to  this  island.  They  had  been  lost 
twenty  years  before,  and  had  lived  in  this  house  for  seven- 
teen years,  according  to  the  records  which  they  carved 
upon  its  walls. 

After  the  seal  rookery  had  been  visited,  the  captain  or- 
ganized a  volunteer  investigation  party  to  explore  the  in- 
terior. Coming  to  the  top  of  a  mountain  range,  they  let 
down  John  Sands,  who  was  lost  in  the  Arctic  Ocean  on 
the  ill-fated  Narvach,  to  find  a  path  for  them.  He  called 
back  that  he  thought  a  way  could  be  found,  but  they  had 
better  leave  the  rope  hanging  in  case  they  were  obliged  to 
return  by  it.  The  whole  party  descended,  but  soon  were 
obliged  to  repeat  the  performance,  and  when  they  reached 
the  valley,  half  a  dozen  ropes  were  hanging  down  the 
mountain  side. 

It  was  well  they  left  them,  for  on  examining  the  valley 
into  which  they  had  descended,  they  found  that  it  was 
walled  in  by  precipitous  mountains,  and  that  this  one  point 
upon  which  they  had  stumbled  by  accident  or  by  fate  was 
the  only  place  they  could  be  crossed.     And  if  those  ropes 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  9 

had  not  been  left,  they  probably  would  have  died  in  that 
lonely  place,  for  this  cave  was  cut  off  from  the  ocean,  as 
well  as  from  the  rest  of  the  island.  All  along  in  front 
were  breakers  which  rendered  the  approach  of  any  boat 
impossible.  The  beach  was  thirty  miles  wide  and  was 
strewn  with  the  wrecks  of  a  thousand  ships,  which  had 
been  lost  off  Cape  Horn  and  drifted  to  this  place  with  the 
current.     Once  in  this  cove,  it  was  impossible  to  leave  it. 

During  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day  which  the  party 
passed  in  this  place,  one  of  those  thrilling  occurrences 
which  sailors,  in  either  the  Arctic  or  Antarctic  Oceans,  are 
always  on  the  lookout  for,  happened. 

As  the  little  party  of  adventurous  men  were  exploring 
the  valley,  Capt.  Reynolds  saw  in  the  distance  what  he 
thought  was  the  work  of  human  hands,  but  whether  it  was 
the  portion  of  a  ship  which  had  escaped  the  anger  of  the 
breakers  and  been  tossed  up  on  the  shore,  or  was  really 
a  human  habitation,  he  could  not  say.  But,  approaching, 
they  found  that  it  was  a  hut,  rudely  and  imperfectly  yet 
warmly  constructed  out  of  ship's  timber.  Many  a  time, 
and  in  most  unlikely  places,  had  such  habitations  been 
found  by  the  crew  during  this  cruise.  The  first  thought 
of  every  man  was  to  examine  and  see  if  there  was  any 
one  living  in  it,  although  with  but  little  hope,  for  if  the 
four  men  who  had  been  cast  in  Frenchman's  Valley  could 
not  survive,  what  chance  could  there  be  for  any  one  in  this 
deserted  spot? 

And  yet  it  was  inhabited.  As  they  drew  near  the 
cabin,  a  man,  bearing  no  evidence  of  starvation  or  of  hard- 


lo  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

ship,  and  with  the  manners  of  a  refined  gentleman,  came 
out  and  addressed  them.  There  was  nothing  in  his  con- 
versation or  his  actions  which  would  indicate  a  ship- 
wrecked man,  or  one  pining  in  loneliness  in  that  solitary 
place. 

On  the  contrary,  he  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  well 
satisfied  with  his  surroundings,  and  he  greeted  the  men 
politely  and  cheerily,  but  not  with  that  joyous  gratefulness 
which  they  were  accustomed  to  find  in  men  rescued  from 
such  a  situation. 

He  received  their  salutations  there  as  coolly  as  if  the 
meeting  had  occurred  in  the  center  of  civilization.  They 
entered  his  hut  and  he  entertained  them  frugally,  of 
course,  but  as  politely  as  if  the  meeting  had  been  in  New 
York. 

Of  course,  their  first  inquiry  was  as  to  how  he  came 
there,  and  from  what  ship  he  was  lost,  and  to  these  queries 
he  replied  briefly : 

**My  name  is  George  Wilding.  I  was  shipwrecked  off 
Cape  Horn  a  year  ago.  Our  ship  was  a  whaler,  home- 
ward bound.  Ten  of  us  escaped  in  the  long  boat,  but  I 
alone  survived.  After  weeks  of  drifting,  my  boat  was 
thrown  upon  the  reefs  in  front  of  this  cove,  smashed  to 
pieces,  and  I  borne  in  to  shore  by  the  tide." 

This  was  all  he  told  them  then,  but  he  afterward  left 
this  record  of  strange  adventure. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  FIGURE  OF  A  MAN. 

As  to  who  I  am,  a  very  few  words  will  be  sufficient. 
Three  years  ago  I  left  a  seaport  town  on  the  Atlantic 
Coast  for  a  whaling  voyage  in  the  South  Seas.  When  in 
latitude  65,  and  almost  directly  south  of  Cape  Horn,  our 
ship  was  wrecked,  and  after  various  disasters  I  found  my- 
self alone  in  a  boat  drifting  rapidly  southward.  Icebergs 
could  be  seen  in  every  direction,  and  on  the  tenth  day  after 
the  wreck  I  sighted  one  straight  ahead  which  appeared  im- 
movable and  extending  to  the  horizon  on  the  east  and 
west.  All  day  I  floated  in  sight  of  this  towering  mass  of 
ice,  each  hour  some  feature  of  it  growing  more  and  more 
distinct,  until  at  last,  as  night  came,  I  feared,  with  good 
reason,  that  my  frail  boat  would  be  dashed  against  it  and 
I  lost. 

All  that  night  I  remained  awake,  watching  the  great 
mass  as  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  or  rather  as  I  drew 
nearer  to  it.  But  the  contact  did  not  come  that  night. 
When  morning  broke  I  was  still  at  some  distance  from  it, 
and  could  now  see  that  instead  of  an  iceberg  floating  in  the 
sea,  it  was  all  one  solid  mass,  its  cold  peaks  of  glittering 
ice  towering  mountain  high  before  me. 

In  many  places  these  peaks  arose  precipitously  from 
the  ocean,  against  which  the  long  billows  broke  themselves 


12  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

with  steady  sweep.  But  here  and  there  I  could  detect 
openings  which  had  all  the  appearance  of  bays,  or  inlets, 
into  a  continent  of  ice. 

I  managed  to  row  into  one  of  these,  and  found  that  the 
ice  sloped  gradually  down  to  the  level  of  the  water  as  on 
a  beach.  I  landed,  and  drawing  my  boat  up,  fastened  it 
to  a  jagged  piece  of  ice,  and  started  out  upon  an  explor- 
ing expedition. 

Climbing  to  the  highest  elevation,  I  found  in  front  of 
me  a  long,  level  plain  of  ice,  extending  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  and  I  determined  upon  exploring  it.  So,  re- 
turning to  my  boat,  I  managed  by  pushing  and  hauling,  to 
draw  it  far  enough  up  the  sloping  ice  to  be  above  the  tide, 
and  there  left  it  in  a  sort  of  cove,  which  was  so  shaped  as 
to  block  it  from  slipping  back  into  the  ocean  and  becom- 
ing lost.  For  I  never  dreamed  but  that  I  would  soon  re- 
turn to  the  boat,  possibly  for  the  purpose  of  rowing  out  to 
some  whaler  which  might  drift  into  this  latitude. 

And  yet  I  knew  ours  was  the  only  ship  which  ever  had 
come  that  far  south,  and  it  was  driven  there  by  the  storm. 
However,  living  is  hope  in  the  human  breast ! 

There  was  I,  a  thousand  miles  from  any  known  land ! 
Out  of  the  track  of  vessels.  All  alone  on  a  great  conti- 
nent of  ice,  with  scarcely  provision  to  last  a  week,  and  yet 
making  fast  my  boat  for  a  return  to  an  unknown  ship 
which  common  sense  should  have  told  me  would  never 
come. 

Having  then  made  my  boat  safe,  I  tied  together  a  cask 
of  water  and  some  provisions  and  started  on  my  explora- 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  13 

tion,  dragging  them  over  the  sHppery  ice  behind  me.  I 
chose  my  direction  as  nearly  south  as  was  possible,  for 
what  reason  or  why  I  was  moved  to  do  so  I  could  not  then 
have  told,  but  I  learned  later.  I  had  traveled  probably 
five  miles,  and  the  polar  sun  was  sinking  down  for  a  few 
hours,  dip  below  the  horizon,  for  this  was  the  season  of 
long  days  and  short  nights,  when  I  was  startled  by  seeing 
far  ahead,  in  the  dusky  twilight,  what  appeared  to  be  a 
rude  hut. 

Could  it  be  that  other  unfortunates  had  been  wrecked 
on  this  part  of  the  great  iceberg?  flashed  through  my 
mind.  Anyway,  I  resolved  to  push  forward  as  rapidly  as 
possible  and  see.  Even  should  I  find  no  inhabitant,  the 
hut  would  at  least  provide  me  shelter  and  a  chance  for 
rest  and  sleep. 

And  here,  the  first  of  the  strange  happenings  which  oc- 
curred to  me  in  this  strange  land,  was  brought  to  my  at- 
tention. I  plainly  heard  in  my  ears,  as  if  some  one  stand- 
ing close  to  me  had  spoken,  the  words : 

"Courage.     Seek  the  house  and  all  will  be  well." 

Those  who  have  seen  the  great  fur  coats  and  caps 
which  Arctic  whalers  wear,  will  readily  understand  how  a 
person  might  slip  up  near  another  from  behind,  or  the 
side,  without  being  seen,  and  I  turned  around  to  look  at 
the  person  who  spoke.  But,  although  I  turned  completely 
around  and  surveyed  all  points  of  the  compass,  I  could 
see  nothing  but  ice. 

Not  a  living  being  of  any  kind  was  in  sight. 


14  The  Wreck  "of  the  South  Pole. 

At  first  I  was  overwhelmed  with  astonishment,  then  the 
astonishment  turned  into  gray  fear. 

''The  cold  and  the  trials  and  the  weariness  of  the  jour- 
ney had  affected  my  brain,"  was  the  thought  which  came 
to  me. 

A  few  minutes  came  another  shock  which  nearly  com- 
pleted the  work  of  terror  the  first  had  begun. 

Ahead  of  me,  not  more  than  fifty  paces,  I  saw  the  figure 
of  a  man  standing  out  clear  and  distinct  against  the 
boundless  expanse  of  white  snow  and  ice. 

But  the  next  instant  it  was  gone !  It  did  not  move 
from  the  place  it  was  standing,  did  not  disappear  behind  a 
hillock  of  ice,  for  the  great  plain  was  as  smooth  as  a  floor. 
It  simply  disappeared. 

I  was  so  overcome  with  fear — not  at  any  idea  of  ghost, 
although  sailors  are  notoriously  superstitious — but  from 
fear  that  my  mind  was  wandering.  I  was  so  overcome,  I 
say,  that  I  stood  stock  still,  and  this  exhibition  of  terror,  I 
afterward  learned,  was  the  means  of  saving  me  from  see- 
ing the  apparition  again — a  sight  which,  I  believe,  would 
have  completely  crazed  me.  But  although  I  saw  nothing 
again,  I  heard  the  voice  a  second  time  bidding  me  press 
on  to  the  hut  with  all  haste,  and  at  the  same  time,  I  can- 
not tell  how,  there  came  new  strength  in  my  body  and  new 
vigor  in  my  brain.  I  walked  rapidly  on,  and  within  half 
an  hour  reached  the  hut. 

It  was  a  veritable  house  that  I  saw  as  I  drew  nearer. 
But  so  strange  had  been  my  journey  that  at  no  time  would 
I  have  been  surprised  to  see  it  suddenly  disappear  from 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  15 

the  icy  plain  and  leave  nothing  but  a  mound  of  ice  to 
mark  the  goal  of  my  pilgrimage. 

It  was  a  small  building,  not  more  than  10x12  in  di- 
mensions, but  strongly  built  of  logs,  a  fact  which  sur- 
prised me  greatly,  as  there  certainly  was  no  timber  in  that 
icy  region. 

The  interior  was  comfortably  fitted  up  with  a  bed,  a 
table,  some  chairs  and  a  stove,  in  which  a  hot  fire  was 
burning.  To  the  latter  I  rushed  and  held  my  benumbed 
hands  close  to  its  comfortable  sides. 

I  tell  you,  after  days  of  drifting  on  a  stormy  polar  sea, 
and  a  day's  travel  over  frozen  fields  of  ice,  a  fire  is  a  rare 
comfort. 

After  getting  the  chill  off  the  outside  of  me,  and  my 
joints  loosened  up  a  little,  I  took  a  more  careful  look  at  the 
cabin,  and  then  noticed  that  the  table  was  laid  for  supper 
and  that  there  was  only  one  plate.  But  this  was  no  time 
for  ceremony.  The  man  for  whom  the  meal  was  provided 
would  well  excuse  a  shipwrecked  mariner  for  devouring 
it.     I  sat  down  with  a  clear  conscience  and  did  so.     , 

After  my  hunger  was  satisfied  I  sat  thinking.  It  is  a 
true  fact  that  a  man  seldom  thinks  until  his  animal  wants 
are  satisfied.  I  mean,  think  in  the  common  use  of  the 
word,  which  is  merely  recalling  memories.  When  he  is 
in  a  tight  place  he  reasons.  I  am  using  these  words  now 
in  the  vulgar,  not  the  scientific  sense. 

So  I  sat  thinking.  The  man  whom  I  thought  I  saw 
must  have  been  the  owner  of  this  place  and  no  doubt  he 


i6  The  Wreck  of  tHe  Soutli  Pole. 

had  stepped  behind  some  icy  hillock  and  so  disappeared. 
But  the  words  I  heard?  Well,  I  was  too  tired  to  specu- 
late upon  them,  and  after  waiting  a  decent  length  of  time 
for  the  owner  of  the  hut  to  return,  I  threw  myself  upon 
the  bed  and  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I   WISH   TO  TURN   BACK. 

When  I  awoke,  after  ten  hours  of  sleep,  such  as  I  had 
not  enjoyed  for  many  a  day,  the  cabin  was  as  I  had  left  it 
when  I  turned  in,  except  that  the  fire  was  burning  low. 
Everything  else  remained  the  same.  No  one  had  entered 
while  I  slept.  Food  for  breakfast  I  found  in  a  cupboard 
behind  the  stove,  and  as  I  was  preparing  my  meal  I  saw  a 
placard  on  the  wall  which  I  was  quite  certain  had  not 
been  there  the  night  before.     It  read : 

"This  hut  was  erected  for  shipwrecked  mariners. 
When  you  have  rested,  travel  due  south." 

That  was  all,  but  the  meaning  was  plain.  There  must 
be  people  living  somewhere  in  this  country.  Hence  I  was 
on  what  many  geographers  had  supposed  this  great  mass 
of  ice  to  be — a  frozen  continent. 

But  if  there  were  people  living  on  it,  then  some  portion 
of  it  cannot  be  covered  with  ice. 

After  preparing  and  eating  a  hearty  breakfast,  I  set  out 
for  the  south,  guided  by  my  pocket  compass,  which,  for- 
tunately, I  had  placed  in  the  boat  before  we  left  the  ship. 
I  traveled  ten  hours  that  day,  and  again  came  to  a  cabin 
which  I  entered  and  found  provisions  for  a  meal.  No  one 
met  me,  and  a  second  time  I  lay  down  and  slept.  A 
similar  placard  was  on  the  walls  of  this  hut  also,  direct- 
ing me  to  continue  my  journey  southward. 


i8  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

After  five  days  of  travel  over  the  snow,  I  thought  I 
could  notice  a  change  in  the  atmosphere  for  the  warmer, 
and  in  a  couple  of  days  more  saw  unmistakable  evidences 
of  a  change  of  climate.  By  and  by  the  snow  and  ice  dis- 
appeared and  bushes  sprang  up  just  as  I  had  found  them 
doing  in  going  south  when  exploring  the  north  polar  zone, 
and  coming  down  the  shores  of  Alaska.  And  at  regular 
intervals,  during  all  this  journey,  I  found  huts  furnished 
with  a  bed,  a  fire,  provisions,  and  the  usual  placard. 

One  morning,  after  I  had  been  traveling  over  ground, 
instead  of  ice,  for  several  days,  a  startling  thing  happened 
to  me.  I  had  found  my  cabin,  as  usual,  eaten  and  slept  in 
it.  But  in  the  morning,  after  breakfast,  I  was  astonished 
to  see  a  small  slip  of  paper  lying  on  the  table,  where  I  had 
eaten  a  few  minutes  before.  I  was  quite  certain  it  was 
not  there  while  I  ate,  as  I  had  sat  at  the  table  for  quite  a 
while.  Who,  then,  could  have  placed  it  there?  So  far 
in  my  journey  I  had  met  no  one,  neither  had  I  seen  any 
evidence  of  human  beings.  I  opened  the  paper  and  found 
it  was  a  note,  saying : 

"At  vour  next  station  you  will  meet  a  guide  who  will 
conduct  you  to  the  city." 

Very  kind  and  hospitable  of  them,  I  thought  to  myself. 
And  from  the  wording  of  the  note  and  the  placards  on  the 
cabin  walls  no  doubt  they  are  civilized. 

The  information  that  another  day's  journey  would  bring 
me,  if  not  to  the  end  of  my  travels,  yet  at  least  to  the  be- 
ginning of  the  end,  and  that  I  would  meet  with  human 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  19 

beings,  spurred  me  on  and  I  walked  more  rapidly  than  any 
previous  day. 

Queer  things  had  happened  to  me  during  my  brief  so- 
journ so  this  ice-bound  continent,  but  a  stranger  event  still 
was  to  happen  this  day,  an  event  which,  perhaps,  had 
much  to  do  with  molding  my  life,  perhaps  the  future  of  a 
great  nation  I  was  approaching.  Indeed,  I  am  almost  in- 
clined to  believe  its  effects  may  possibly,  as  I  was  after- 
ward told,  be  so  far  reaching  as  to  include  the  whole 
globe. 

It  is  thus  that  at  every  turn  in  life  the  little  things  bear 
in  their  turn  incalculable  results. 

You  will  not  have  forgotten  the  man  whom  I  saw  for  a 
moment  that  first  day  on  the  summit  of  the  iceberg,  but 
who  disappeared  so  suddenly  that  I  was  feign  to  believe 
him  an  image  of  my  demented  brain.  You  may  remem- 
ber, also,  the  voices  which  I  heard  speaking  to  me  in  the 
awful  silence  of  glittering  ice  and  infinite  depths  of  sky. 
And  the  cottages,  or  huts,  strung  at  regular  intervals  in 
which  I  was  fed  by  mysterious  hands !  But  the  most  mys- 
terious of  all  to  me  was  the  finding  of  the  note  upon  the 
table,  where,  half  an  hour  before,  I  knew  it  had  not  been. 
All  these  were  full  of  mystery,  but  the  crowning  mystery 
and,  I  may  add,  crowning  glory,  came  to  me  this  last  day 
of  isolation. 

When  I  had  walked  for  probably  five  hours,  and  the 
landscape  was  growing  more  and  more  like  that  of  an  in- 
habitable country,  witji  here  and  there  struggling  trees 


20  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

and  shrubs,  I  saw  in  the  distance  a  human  being — a 
woman. 

She  was  standing  still,  out  on  the  plain,  which  was  now 
no  longer  a  field  of  ice,  and  looking  toward  the  north.  At 
first  I  stopped  in  amazement,  and  then  quickening  my 
pace,  hurried  on  toward  her.  She  remained  motionless, 
as  if  awaiting  my  coming,  and  when  I  approached  to 
within  a  few  rods,  so  that  her  face  could  be  distinguished, 
she  smiled  a  welcome  and  lifted  her  hand,  as  if  beckoning 
me  to  her. 

Let  me  pause  here  and  describe  this  image,  which,  from 
that  moment,  became  my  ideal  of  womanhood  and  which 
since  then  has  ever  been  enshrined  in  my  heart. 

She  was  tall.  Not  the  tallest  woman  in  the  world  I  had 
ever  seen,  but  slightly  above  the  common  height.  Her 
figure  was  compactly  built,  with  hips  slender  as  a  boy's 
and  as  graceful,  and  with  the  bust  rounded  out  in  the 
curves  of  budding  womanhood. 

As  to  her  face !  It  was  long  and  oval,  but  not  with  a 
high  brow.  Her  complexion  clear  pink  and  white,  and 
her  hair  the  softest  of  dark  brown,  fine  spun  and  floating. 
And  her  eyes — not  brown  nor  black  nor  blue,  but  of  that 
clear  gray  which  are  the  most  beautiful  God  ever  made. 
They  are  so  beautiful  that  He  entrusts  them  to  but  few, 
even  of  women. 

I  loved  her  from  the  first  moment  her  face  appeared  to 
me  on  that  barren  plain. 

As  I  drew  nearer  to  her  she  smiled  again  and  said  in  a 
sweet  voice: 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  21 

''Welcome  to  our  land,"  and  although  it  was  the  most 
commonplace  phrase,  no  music  ever  sounded  sweeter  in 
my  ears.  For  had  her  voice  not  been  most  musical  and 
her  face  and  form  perfection  of  artistic  grace,  these  were 
the  first  human  words  I  had  heard  since  the  day  of  the 
shipwreck.  The  first  human  words,  I  say,  because  those 
I  heard  out  on  the  ice  fields,  coming  from  no  visible  per- 
son, I  could  not  reckon  as  human. 

I  never  have  been  very  forward  with  women — on  the 
contrary,  rather  diffident — but  I  felt  no  bashfulness  with 
her.  Instead,  I  rapidly  stepped  up  to  her  side  and  asked 
her  one  question  after  another  as  to  where  I  was  and  what 
land  I  was  approaching,  all  of  which  she  answered,  still 
smiling  my  heart  into  her  own  keeping. 

"1  am  Winnifred,  and  you  are  approaching  the  city  of 
Theon,  the  capital  of  the  state,  and  will  reach  it  to-night. 
You  are  now  in  the  borderland  between  the  state  and  the 
land  of  the  ice.     Follow  me.     I  came  to  lead  you." 

We  walked  along  after  that  side  by  side,  she  plying  me 
with  questions  as  to  my  journey  across  the  ice,  although 
even  then  I  had  an  impression  that  she  was  doing  so 
merely  to  hear  me  talk,  rather  than  because  she  did  not 
know  every  detail  of  it  already.  I  noticed,  also,  that 
while  she  talked  with  me  freely  and  with  perfect  ease,  she 
kept,  with  what  I  considered  needless  prudery  at  the 
time,  several  feet  away,  and  never  allowed  me  to  approach 
near  enough  to  touch  her. 

After  we  had  traveled  together  for  an  hour  or  more,  we 
came  to  the  summit  of  a  range  of  mountains  which  sloped 


22  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

gently  downward  to  a  great,  level  plain,  filled  with  lux- 
uriant vegetation,  and  in  the  center  of  which  stood  as  fair 
a  city  as  ever  I  set  eyes  upon.  This  mountain  range  ap- 
peared circular  in  shape,  surrounding  the  plain  on  all 
sides,  except  that  far  to  the  south  there  appeared  on  the 
horizon  what  looked  like  the  ocean. 

Noticing  my  expression  of  wonder,  she  explained : 

"You  are  looking  down  into  the  land  which  surrounds 
the  south  pole,  and  which  contains  the  oldest  nation  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  So  old  is  it  that  all  of  art  and  science 
which  man  has  ever  been  able  to  think  out  is  there  treas- 
ured. And  it  is  as  you  suspect,  surrounded  by  a  wall  of 
mountains,  and  then  of  eternal  ice.  And  the  water  which 
you  see  in  the  distance  is  really  a  great  inland  sea,  salt  as 
the  ocean,  although  seemingly  entirely  cut  off  from  it. 
Yet  it  is  not  cut  off.  There  is  a  small  outlet,  that  is,  small 
compared  with  the  great  ocean  outside,  where  the  water 
passes  in  and  out  underneath  a  glacier  which  towers  miles 
high  and  from  which  are  continually  dropping  the  giant 
icebergs  which  float  in  the  southern  seas." 

"Winnie,  Winnie,"  I  repeated  half  to  myself,  as  we 
stood  looking  down  upon  the  fair  valley  below.  "What  a 
pretty  name.  But  it  is  so  English  that  I  am  surprised. 
Are  some  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  country  of  yours  de- 
scended from  the  English  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  looking  at  me  with  her  gray  eyes 
in  a  way  which  made  my  heart  beat  faster.  "You  will  find 
all  nationalities  represented  here  in  names,  for,  as  I  told 
you,  we  combine  all  of  rrt  and  learning  of  all  ages  of  the 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  23 

world.  That  surprises  you,  does  it  not?  You  will  un- 
derstand it  when  you  have  been  with  us  a  few  days.  My 
name  was  chosen  for  me  by  my  mother  because  she  fan- 
cied it  as  a  quaint  old-fashioned  name  in  an  English  book 
she  was  reading  when  I  was  born." 

At  this  moment  I  drew  nearer  and  attempted  to  take  her 
hand  in  mine.  I  did  grasp  it,  but  when  I  did  so  found  I 
was  clasping  empty  air. 

I  stepped  back  in  horror.  Was  this  a  land  of  ghouls 
that  I  had  come  to  ?  She  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at 
me  at  first  in  surprise  and  then  in  sorrow,  and  then  faded 
quickly  from  my  sight. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MORE    CONFUSED   THAN    EVER. 

When  the  figure  of  the  girl  who  had  been  walking  and 
talking  but  a  moment  before  disappeared,  I  will  confess 
that  I  was  afraid.  Imagine  a  shipwrecked  man  who  had 
drifted  for  days  on  an  angry  ocean,  who  had  climbed  ice- 
bergs and  traveled  over  ice  fields  for  days,  who  had  heard 
mysterious  voices,  been  mysteriously  provided  with  food 
and  shelter,  seen  that  which  he  could  explain  in  no  other 
way  than  as  spirit,  who  had  received  notes  in  places  where 
no  human  hands  could  have  placed  them.  A  man  alone 
in  a  mysterious  land  which  civilized  portions  of  the  globe 
had  not  believed  to  exist. 

What  could  the  strongest  man,  under  such  circum- 
stances, do  but  stand  in  fear  and  anguish?  What  was 
this  strange  land;  was  it  the  entrance  to  the  infernal 
regions,  or  peopled  with  shades  of  the  departed  ?  Or  was 
I  losing  my  mind  and  imagining  all  these  things  ? 

The  latter  I  rejected  after  the  first  thought,  for  the  food 
and  the  lodging  were  too  substantial  for  me  to  have 
dreamed  them.  And  the  first  was  almost  as  unreasonable, 
for  with  whatever  this  land  was  peopled  they  certainly 
had  no  evil  intention  toward  me. 

I  stood  there  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain  range  for 
half  an  hour  meditating  upon  these  strange  things  and 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  25 

turning  over  in  my  mind  what  to  do.  To  turn  back  I  was 
most  strongly  inclined,  but  there  was  something  which 
drew  me  down  the  valley.  What  that  was  I  could  not  say 
then,  although  I  learned  afterward.  In  spite  of  pros- 
pective dangers  and  mysteries,  I  felt  impelled  to  proceed 
instead  of  going  back. 

Step  by  step  I  went  down  the  valley,  noting  at  almost 
every  step  new  indications  of  a  different  clime.  Vegeta- 
tion began  to  spring  up  and  the  air  assumed  a  softer  tem- 
per. Animals  and  birds  could  be  seen,  flowers  appeared, 
and  as  I  descended  farther  I  came  to  cattle  grazing  and 
fields  of  grain  and  corn. 

As  I  reached  the  last  descent  before  coming  into  the 
valley,  or  down  to  the  plain,  I  saw  a  man  approaching,  a 
man  who  seemed  in  figure  strangely  like  the  one  I  saw  for 
a  brief  time  out  on  the  ice  fields,  and  I  will  confess  to  a 
feeling  of  fear  again.  But  this  time  there  was  no  dis- 
appearance. We  gradually  drew  near  each  other  until 
within  hailing  distance,  when  he  called  out  in  a  cheery 
voice  in  English  telling  me  to  hasten  and  bidding  me  wel- 
come. But  while  I  did  not  stop,  yet  I  did  not  hasten,  and 
I  viewed  him  with  ill-concealed  suspicion  until  he  reached 
out  and  grasped  my  hand  in  a  hearty  handshake. 

Then  I  realized  that  whatever  mysterious  experiences  I 
had  gone  through  I  had  met  at  last  a  human  being,  and 
then — all  the  strength  which  had  held  me  up  for  days 
gave  way  and  I  sank  down  upon  the  ground  and  cried. 
Yes,  cried.  And  any  one  else  would  have  done  the  same 
thing  under  similar  circumstances. 


26  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

'Toor  fellow,"  I  heard  the  stranger  saying  in  a  sympa- 
thetic voice.  "The  strain  has  been  too  great  upon  him," 
and  he  walked  a  little  ways  from  me  until  I  recovered  my- 
self.    Then  he  returned. 

"Never  mind,  my  friend.  You  have  had  a  hard  time  of 
it,  but  we  will  soon  be  at  home,  where  you  can  rest.  You 
shall  go  direct  to  my  house  and  remain  in  absolute  seclu- 
sion until  you  are  thoroughly  yourself  again,  which  I  do 
not  believe  will  be  many  days." 

"But  where  am  I?  What  is  this  country?  We  never 
believed  there  were  human  beings  around  the  south 
pole." 

"You  are  really  in  an  inhabited  country,  and  you  will 
find  it  equally  as  attractive  as  your  own,  I  hope.  But  it 
may  be  as  well  for  us  to  talk  of  these  things  later.  Come, 
let  us  go  home." 

I  arose  and  with  him  continued  my  journey  for  half  an 
hour  more,  when  we  came  to  a  mansion  in  the  center  of 
a  well-kept  park.  We  entered  the  house  and  proceeded 
at  once  to  a  large,  comfortable  bed  chamber,  where  he  left 
me,  saying: 

"You  had  better  lie  down  for  a  while.  I  will  have  some 
refreshments  sent  to  you,"  and  with  these  words  with- 
drew. 

That  hour  of  rest  I  can  never  forget,  although  it  was 
disturbed  by  many  queries  as  to  my  surrounding.  Have 
you  ever  gone  through  a  long  mental  strain,  of  fear,  of 
danger,  of  expectation?  And  then,  when  all  was  over, 
how  peaceful  was  the  relaxation !     I  gave  myself  up  to  the 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  27 

enjoyment  of  it ;  lay  back  upon  the  couch  and  rested,  gaz- 
ing idly  out  at  the  branches  of  the  trees  in  the  park  gently 
swaying  with  the  breeze. 

A  servant  entered  with  a  lunch  and  a  strong  cup  of  cof- 
fee, and  after  I  had  eaten  and  drank  he  returned  again 
with  a  suit  of  clothes  of  American  cut  which  fitted  me 
very  nicely.  And  again  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  when  my 
host  supposed  I  was  sufficiently  rested,  the  same  servant 
appeared  and  invited  me  to  descend  to  the  parlor,  which  I 
did. 

It  was  a  quietly,  comfortably  furnished  room,  with  a 
curtain  suspended  across  the  entrance  to  another,  and  as 
I  stood  in  the  center  surveying  the  apartment  the  curtains 
parted  and  Winnie,  the  beautiful  figure  I  had  seen  that 
afternoon,  appeared  between  them. 

She  was  smiling  as  when  I  first  saw  her  out  on  the  bar- 
ren plain,  and  came  forward  with  hand  extended  to  greet 
me.  But  noticing  that  I  drew  a  step  back  and,  as  she 
afterward  told  me,  that  my  face  grew  pale,  she  cried  out 
in  a  cheery  voice  : 

"Will  you  not  allow  me  to  welcome  you  to  our  home? 
I  am  Winnifred,  your  host's  daughter,"  and  coming  close 
to  me  took  my  hand  in  hers. 

I  could  say  nothing,  only  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  but  this  was  the  exact  image  of 
the  girl  I  had  seen  on  the  barren  mountain  plain,  and  I 
defy  any  man  not  to  have  been  completely  nonplussed 
under  the  circumstances. 


28  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

"Are  you  not  satisfied  that  I  am  I?  and  that  you  see 
very  flesh  and  blood  ?" 

"But,"  I  stammered,  "this  afternoon  I  saw  some  one 
so  like  you  that  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  you  were 
she." 

"Ah.  You  have  been  meeting  ladies  already,  have  you? 
Tell  me  who  this  one  was.  What  was  her  name  ?  Where 
did  you  meet  her?    And  was  she  really  anything  like  me?" 

"The  exact  image,  and  she  told  me  her  name  was  Win- 
nifred." 

"That  is  strange.  I  must  inquire  who  this  double  of 
mine  is,"  and  she  laughed  it  off  quite  sweetly,  although 
the  laugh  was  the  same  as  my  Winnie's  of  the  afternoon 

"But  which  of  the  two  do  you  like  the  better?"  she 
asked  after  a  moment. 

"My  Winnie  of  the  afternoon,"  I  replied.  "But  you 
are  so  near  alike  that  I  will  always  confound  you." 

She  looked  thoughtful  at  this,  but  at  the  same  time 
pleased,  and  said : 

"I  like  your  answer,  and  some  day  may  tell  you  why." 

And  that  also  puzzled  me. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ENTlRKlyY  e:XPI.ANATORY. 

Of  course  I  was  all  on  the  qui  vive  until  I  could  have  a 
private  talk  with  my  host,  whose  name  I  had  learned  was 
Costa,  and  hear  from  him,  if  he  would  give  it,  an  explana- 
tion of  the  mysterious  country  in  which  I  had  landed. 
For  by  this  time  I  had  given  over  all  idea  of  fear.  There 
was  a  soothing  presence  in  the  very  atmosphere  about  me, 
and  I  could  not  believe  that  any  harm  was  meant  me. 
And  yet  all  these  mysterious  events  called  for  an  explana- 
tion. 

Consequently  the  next  morning  I  took  advantage  of  a 
quiet  hour  in  which  we  were  walking  through  the  park, 
smelling  the  fragrance  of  the  trees  and  flowers,  that  I 
asked  him : 

*'Mr.  Costa,  will  you  please  relieve  me  from  this  sus- 
pense which  you  must  know  is  weighing  upon  me,  and 
tell  me  where  I  am  and  who  you  are?" 

He  smiled  at  the  question,  but  replied : 

"Yes.  I  think  you  are  so  far  recovered  from  your  ter- 
rible experiences  in  shipwreck  and  crossing  the  ice  land, 
that  I  may.  To  be  brief  and  to  the  point,  you  are  on  the 
South  Polar  continent — a  land  I  know  your  geographers 
have  often  conceived,  but  have  believed  uninhabited,  even 
if  it  really  existed,   which   the   most   learned   of  them 


30  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

doubted.  What  you  want  to  know  next,  is  how  you  were 
rescued.     I  will  tell  you. 

"Every  now  and  then  ships  have  ventured  or  been 
blown  by  storm  to  our  part  of  the  world,  and  occasionally 
some  of  the  mariners  have  ventured  upon  the  icebergs. 
To  save  them  we  have  established  outposts  along  the  edge 
of  the  icebergs,  houses  where  men,  such  as  you,  may  find 
shelter,  till  we  can  rescue  them." 

"But  do  you  keep  fires  burning  continually  in  them? 
If  not,  who  lights  them  ?  And  how  is  it  that  I  never  saw 
the  attendant  who  looked  after  my  wants  ?" 

"I  see,  Mr.  Wilding,  that  I  must  enter  into  my  explana- 
tion more  deeply  than  I  had  intended  at  first,  hoping  to 
wait  a  few  days  and  let  the  information  gradually  sift  into 
your  mind,  until  you  should  learn  more  of  us  and  our 
manners  by  observation. 

"My  daughter  told  you  you  were  in  a  land  where  all  art 
and  science  of  the  world  was  treasured.  If  you  are  a 
student  your  mind  will  at  once  revert  to  Egyptian  and 
Assyrian  learning,  which  is  supposed  to  have  been  lost. 
It  was  lost  to  the  outside  world,  but  treasured  up  here. 
Your  mind  will  dwell  upon  the  ages  when  man,  looking 
up  into  the  deep,  clear  blue  sky,  studied  God's  work  in 
them.  You  may  think  of  Joseph,  the  dreamer.  You  may 
think  of  the  stars  and  their  influence  upon  man." 

"I  don't  believe  they  have  any,"  I  replied. 

"We  v^ll  let  that  pass,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "This 
is  merely  incidental  anyway.  I  do  not  mean  to  tell  you 
of  a  star  gazing  or  a  dream  explaining  people,  only  to 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  31 

remind  you  that  there  was  a  high  civiHzation  in  the  past 
which  vanished  from  the  knowledge  of  your  races  in  other 
cHmes. 

"Coming  further  down  the  history  of  nations  you  will 
recall  the  Hindoos,  the  people  who  'think,'  who  withdraw 
themselves  into  themselves  and  spend  long  years  in  medi- 
tation. You  have  heard  that  they  have  power  to  do  queer 
things — almost  miracles. 

''They  can.  This  is  nothing  but  the  power  of  thought 
— of  mind.  The  man  who  thinks  is  able  to  do  all  things. 
For  mind  is  supreme.  God  is  mind.  The  more  freedom, 
the  more  power  you  develop  in  mind,  and  the  nearer  you 
are  to  God.     That  is " 

"That  is  ?"  I  repeated. 

He  passed  over  my  repetition  and  continued : 

"If  morality  is  considered  also,  soul  power  is  developed 
by  purity." 

He  said  this  as  if  he  were  reverently  quoting  from  the 
Bible.  And  I  afterward  learned  that  this  strange  people 
considered  purity  as  one  of  the  essentials  of  man  as  well 
as  woman,  and  practiced  it. 

"But,"  I  exclaimed,  "you  tell  me  nothing  of  the  strange 
things  which  have  happened  to  me  in  this  strange  land. 
Pardon  me,  but  I  do  not  see  the  connection  between  your 
remarks  on  mind  and  morals  and  my  being  fed  and 
warmed  on  an  iceberg.  It  does  not  tell  me  where  I  am 
and  who  you  are." 

"You  are  in  the  land  of  Theos.  In  the  suburbs  of  the 
capital  city  of  Theon.     I  am  the  'Costa.'     There  you  have 


32  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

your  answer/'  He  stopped  as  if  he  proposed  to  leave  me 
in  darkness  if  he  was  not  allowed  his  own  way  of  explain- 
ing. 

"But  I  heard  voices." 

"Yes,  you  heard  voices,  or  rather  one  voice — mine. 

"I  was  the  guard,  if  so  you  choose  to  call  it — I  who 
was  on  guard  watching  for  shipwrecked  mariners  from 
the  ship  which  was  storm  tossed  upon  our  shores. 

"I  saw  you  out  on  the  ocean.  I  saw  your  boat  driven 
toward  a  certain  part  of  our  coast  and  made  ready  for 
you.  It  was  I  who  lighted  the  fires  and  who  warned  you 
which  way  to  travel  to  reach  the  nearest  hut." 

"Why  did  you  never  appear  to  me?" 

"I  did  once,  and  it  caused  such  fright  in  you  that  I  never 
did  so  again." 

"But  the  voices,  you  seem  to  know  I  heard  them,  as  you 
say  the  words  wtre  from  you.  How  could  you  speak  and 
I  not  see  you?  Were  you  hidden  any  place  near?  Buf 
the  voices  seemed  at  my  very  ear.  You  have  not  ex- 
plained the  mystery  yet  ?  How  could  you  speak  and  I  not 
see  you?  How  could  you  attend  to  my  wants,  light  my 
fires  and  cook  my  suppers  and  I  not  see  you?" 

"Yet  I  was  ever  close  by  your  side.  I  spoke  to  you.  I 
was  your  guard." 

"Then  you  must  be  a  spirit,"  I  fairly  shouted. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  he  calmly  replied. 

After  a  moment  he  continued,  having  seen  the  effect 
his  remark  that  he  was  a  spirit  had  made  upon  me. 

"Every  man  is  spiritual  as  well  as  physical.     He  has 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  33 

both  the  eternal  and  the  mortal  in  him.  Could  the  spirit 
but  secure  control  over  the  mortal  it  would  be  free.  By 
long  years  of  study,  of  culture  and  privation,  men  in  your 
lands  have  secured  this  freedom  from  the  body.  We,  in 
a  sense,  inherit  it.  Have  you  never  heard  of  those  wise 
men  of  all  ages,  who,  at  the  present  time,  so  far  as  your 
people  know,  are  confined  to  the  thoughtful  Hindoo  race  ? 
Have  you  never  heard  of  those  inhabitants  of  India,  who, 
after  long  study  and  privation,  have  been  able  to  separate 
their  souls  from  their  bodies,  and  send  them  wheresoever 
they  will?" 

I  had  heard  some  such  stories,  although  I  never  had  be- 
lieved them,  and  I  told  him  so. 

"What  those  few  men  can  do/'  Costa  replied,  "we  do. 
You  have  come  to  a  nation  of  men  and  women,  adepts  in 
all  the  intricacies  of  the  occult  sciences.  We  have  gained 
such  power  over  our  bodies  that  we  can  leave  them  at  any 
time  and  in  our  astral  bodies  fly  in  an  instant  of  time  to 
any  quarter  of  the  globe.  Many  of  those  adepts  of  India 
visit  us  and  are  visited  by  us  in  return.  It  is  as  easy,  nay 
easier,  than  a  journey  in  one  of  your  ships  which  any 
storm  may  wreck.  No  storm  ever  wrecks  the  soul  of  the 
mahatma  in  its  flight. 

"Are  you  not  gaining  any  idea  of  the  land  to  which 
you  have  come?  It  is  a  land  of  theosophists,  a  land  in 
which  each  inhabitant  possesses  greater  power  than  those 
few  men  we  have  spoken  of.  Why  ?  Because  we  and  our 
forefathers  have  been  studying,  learning,  practicing  for 
centuries,  yea,  for  centuries  before  the  present  history  of 


34  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

man  evolved  itself  from  Myth,  according  to  your  feeble 
reading  of  history.  It  is  but  the  v^^ork  of  a  moment  to  dis- 
connect the  soul  from  the  body  and  allow  it  to  wander  at 
will  through  space.  This  is  why  we  are  able  to  watch 
over  and  save  you. 

"When  in  one  of  my  astral  flights  I  saw  your  ship 
beaten  by  the  storm  and  drifting  this  way,  I  paused  to 
watch  your  course,  as  in  your  small  boat  you  drifted 
against  the  icy  guardians  of  our  land. 

"We  are  a  people  of  mercy,  else  we  could  not  retain  our 
power.  A  selfish  man  gives  hostages  to  the  flesh  and  loses 
in  spiritual  power.  I  saw  you  land  upon  the  icy  coast  and 
at  once,  by  the  odylic  force  which  each  of  us  possesses, 
kindled  the  fires  in  the  hut  for  you.  Then,  still  in  my 
astral  body  and  invisible,  I  drew  you  toward  it,  whisper- 
ing in  your  ear  words  of  encouragement  and  advice. 
Then,  when  you  were  safe  in  the  first  hut  and  in  condition 
to  make  your  way  unaided  to  our  land,  I  left  you  and  in 
an  instant  was  in  my  home." 

"And  did  you  tell  them  of  my  coming?" 

"Tell  them  of  your  coming?  There  was  no  need,  for 
was  I  not  in  constant  communication  with  them  ?" 

"In  communication  with  them?  How  could  that  be? 
There  was  no  one  to  carry  a  message,  and  surely  you  have 
no  telegraph  across  those  icy  fields?" 

Costa  smiled. 

"Have  I  talked  so  vainly?  Or  is  the  thought  so  foreign 
to  you  that  you  cannot  grasp  it?  What  can  fly  swifter 
than  thought?    What  is  more  powerful  in  the  universe 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  35 

than  mind  ?  Then  how  could  man  have  better  means  for 
communicating  with  another  than  when  his  soul,  freed 
from  his  body,  is  left  at  liberty  to  exercise  all  its  power 
untrammeled  ?" 

''When  I  returned  home  we  watched  your  course,  and 
at  the  last  hut  in  which  you  slept,  projected  a  note  which 
fell  upon  your  table  and  told  you  that  would  be  your  last 
stopping  place." 

"And  the  placards  ?"  I  gasped. 

^'Projected  in  the  same  manner." 

"Then  my  daughter,  Winnifred,  who  had  taken  a  great 
interest  in  your  journey,  wished  to  become  your  guide 
the  rest  of  the  way,  to  make  your  acquaintance  as  it  were, 
and  I  consented  that  she  should  project  her  astral  body 
to  the  borderland  and  conduct  you  to  our  home.  But  you, 
you  touched  her  notwithstanding  all  her  precaution,  be- 
came frightened  and  she  was  obliged  to  leave  you.  Then, 
so  great  was  your  fear,  I  believe  you  would  have  turned 
back  had  I  not  exercised  my  will  to  draw  you  onward." 

"That,  then,"  I  muttered,  "was  the  force  that  drew  me 
on." 

"Yes.  Then  I  met  you  in  the  flesh,  reassured  you  and 
conducted  you  home." 

"Then  it  was  really  your  daughter  who  met  me  on  the 
barren  plain?     But — but " 

"But  what?"  he  asked  smiling,  as  I  hesitated. 

"But  I  understood  her  to  say  it  was  not  she  who  so  met 
me. 

"Did  she  really  deny  it?" 


36  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

"No,"  I  replied  after  considering.  **She  did  not  in  so 
many  words,  but  at  least  she  gave  me  that  impression." 

^'Sometimes  it  is  necessary  to  veil  the  truth  for  a  mo- 
ment until  the  pupil  is  strong  enough  to  bear  it.  Had  she 
acknowledged  her  identity  last  night  when  you  met  at  my 
house  the  effect  upon  you  might  have  been  disastrous.  A 
falsehood  is  a  great  crime.  But  under  the  circumstances 
I  connived  at  the  concealment  of  the  truth.  It  was  noth- 
ing more." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I     GO     HUNTING. 

During  my  visit  I  had  noticed  that  every  day  we  were 
bountifully  supplied  with  fresh  fish  and  game,  and  one 
day,  commenting  upon  its  excellent  quality,  asked  my  host 
if  he  never  indulged  in  the  fascinating  sport  of  angling  or 
hunting.  The  blank  look  of  astonishment  with  which  he 
received  my  question,  and  replied  that  such  work  was  left 
to  the  servants,  surprised  me,  and  I  changed  the  subject. 
However,  a  few  days  later  I  broached  the  subject  to  Man- 
uel, the  servant  who  supplied  the  table  from  the  market, 
and  stated  that  I  would  like  to  go  out  fishing  some  day, 
if  he  would  tell  me  where  would  be  a  good  place.  He  also 
looked  astonished,  but  not  so  much  from  the  fact  that  I 
wished  to  go  fishing  as  that  I  should  ask  where  a  good 
place  could  be  found. 

''Any  place  where  there  is  water,"  he  replied,  ''but,  of 
course,  the  work  is  more  difficult  where  there  are  no  fish 
than  when  you  go  to  a  place  where  they  are  plentiful." 
And  he  readily  made  arrangements  for  me  to  accompany 
a  fisherman  the  next  day. 

We  started  with  a  fish  basket,  and  I  supposed  my  com- 
panion would  secure  lines  and  bait  or  a  net  as  we  went 
through  the  town,  but  he  did  not,  and  then  I  conjectured 


38  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

that  there  was  some  one  on  the  seashore  who  made  a  busi- 
ness of  providing  them.     But  in  this  also  I  was  mistaken. 

At  the  seashore  he  sat  down  upon  a  rock  and  fell  into 
what  I  took  for  a  very  peculiar  fit  of  absent-mindedness, 
as  he  said  not  a  word,  neither  did  he  make  any  attempt  to 
begin  fishing.  In  the  meantime,  I  walked  up  and  down 
the  shore  in  some  astonishment. 

After  sitting  in  this  position  for  some  time  he  arose, 
and,  wading  out  into  the  water  for  a  short  distance,  picked 
up  a  fine  fish  with  his  hand.  It  must  have  weighed  about 
ten  pounds,  and  was  what  I  would  have  called  a  small- 
mouthed  bass  at  home.  Throwing  it  up  on  the  bank,  he 
picked  up  another,  and  still  another,  until  he  had  enough 
to  fill  the  basket.  Then  he  waded  out  and  announced  that 
we  would  return. 

So  puzzling  was  his  whole  demeanor  that  when  I 
reached  home  I  sought  my  host  and  eagerly  asked  him  for 
an  explanation.  He  seemed  surprised  at  first,  but,  smil- 
ing, replied : 

''Your  pardon,  my  friend.  I  forgot  that  you  did  not 
understand  many  of  our  ways.  We  are  so  accustomed  to 
them  that  I  forgot.  When  we  need  fish  for  food  we  send 
our  servant  to  get  them,  because  it  is  considered  beneath 
us  to  do  that  kind  of  work." 

"But  I  want  to  know  why  and  how  he  picked  up  those 
fish  with  his  hands,  as  if  it  was  the  most  common  thing 
in  the  world." 

"He  did  as  all  do  when  fish  is  needed  for  food.     He 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  39 

went  out,  sat  down  on  the  seashore  and  hypnotized  the 
fish.  When  they  are  near  it  is  an  easy  matter,  but  when 
they  are  at  a  distance  the  work  is  difficult,  and  sometimes 
he  is  away  half  a  day  before  he  can  fill  his  basket." 

"I  do  not  understand." 

"He  hypnotizes  them.  Gets  them  under  the  influence 
of  his  will,  compels  them  to  come  to  shore,  when  he  picks 
them  up." 

This  was  quite  a  puzzle  to  me  for  several  days,  but  at 
last  I  began  to  understand  both  what  my  host  told  me  and 
also  how  the  fisherman  caught  his  fish  with  neither  net 
nor  hook. 

In  connection  with  this  I  might  mention  a  similar  inci- 
dent with  regard  to  hunting.  When  at  home  I  had  been 
fond  of  this  kind  of  sport,  and  whenever  on  land  took  a 
trip  through  the  woods  for  squirrels  and  along  the  water- 
ways for  water  fowl.  This  may  seem  a  queer  pastime  for 
a  sailor,  but  for  thirty  years  I  was  a  landsman  and  during 
that  time  acquired  a  love  for  sports  which  any  number  of 
years  on  the  seas  would  never  take  away. 

Consequently  after  being  in  Theon  a  few  weeks  and 
becoming  fully  rested  and  restored  to  health,  my  old  long- 
ing returned.  But  by  this  time  I  knew  that  it  would  be 
accounted,  if  not  sacrilege,  at  least  a  very  low  down  en- 
joyment, to  go  out  hunting  with  my  guns,  even  if  they 
would  be  of  any  use,  so  I  decided  merely  to  go  along  with 
a  hunter  of  the  country  and  watch  his  manner  of  taking 
game. 


40  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

Arrangements  were  made  this  time  by  my  host,  who 
was  thoughtful,  and  after  the  fishing  episode,  remembered 
that  I  was  desirous  of  learning  all  the  ways  of  the  coun- 
try. He  even  went  a  short  distance  with  us  and  honored 
us  by  bringing  down  a  fine  partridge  himself.  I  call  ii  a 
partridge  because  that  was  what  it  looked  most  like,  but 
the  natives  gave  it  an  entirely  different  name. 

As  upon  the  fishing  occasion,  we  took  with  us  nothing 
but  a  bag  for  carrying  the  game,  and  as  we  went  along 
my  host  explained  to  me  as  he  did  with  regard  to  the  fish, 
that  none  but  the  lower  classes  made  a  living  in  this  man- 
ner. When  they  acquired  a  greater  degree  of  will  power 
they  gave  it  up  and  entered  upon  a  more  honorable  busi- 
ness. This,  he  explained,  was  because  it  was  easier  to 
work  upon  animals  than  intelligent  human  beings. 

After  walking  out  of  the  city  about  a  mile  we  stopped 
and  sat  down  under  a  tree  bearing  a  resemblance  to  our 
oaks.  Here  my  host  and  the  hunter  immediately  fell  into 
an  abstracted  condition  and  at  the  expiration  of  about 
five  minutes  I  observed  a  well  made  hare  approaching  us. 
It  stopped  within  a  rod,  and  the  hunter,  after  making  a 
few  passes  with  his  hands,  caught  it.  After  killing  it 
he  placed  it  in  the  bag  and  sat  down  for  more  game. 

At  this  point  my  host,  who  had  in  the  meantime  brought 
down  a  very  fine  specimen  of  wild  turkey,  asked  me  if 
there  was  any  particular  animal  I  would  like  to  have 
caught.  After  thinking  it  over  a  little  I  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  secure  a  specimen  of  native  monkeys  which  I  had 
seen  springing  from  tree  to  tree  over  our  heads.     This  de- 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  41 

sire,  I  explained,  was  not  from  a  wish  to  taste  monkey 
flesh,  but  to  tame  the  animal.     My  host  replied  : 

''You  have  asked  me  to  do  an  almost  impossible  thing. 
The  monkey  is  one  of  the  most  intelligent  of  the  lower 
animals.  At  first,  centuries  ago,  our  records  tell  us  many 
of  them  were  caught,  but  after  a  time  they  began  to  com- 
bat our  will  power  with  their  own,  and  now  have  become 
almost  impervious  to  our  efforts.  However,  I  will  make  a 
trial.  In  fact,  it  would  be  quite  a  triumph  over  the  lower 
animals  if  I  could  secure  one,  and  so  I  am  very  glad  to 
make  the  attempt,  knowing  there  will  be  no  disgrace  in 
failure." 

This  speech  greatly  interested  me,  and  I  asked : 

"Are  there  any  other  animals  which  thus  combat  your 
superior  intelligence  ?" 

**Yes,"  replied  my  host,  "there  are  several.  One  species 
of  bear  has  developed  its  will  power  until  it  is  rare  that  we 
ever  ensnare  one.  However,  they  have  become  so  much 
under  cur  influence  that  there  is  no  danger  from  them. 
While  we  cannot  compel  one  in  the  wild  state  to  come  to 
us,  yet  the  mental  force  has  proven  so  great  that  if  one 
meets  us  face  to  face  we  are  able  to  exert  enough  influence 
to  keep  it  from  harming  us." 

With  this  he  stopped  talking  and  concentrated  all  his 
efforts  upon  one  sprightly  little  monkey  which  he  pointed 
out  skipping  from  branch  to  branch  over  our  heads  and 
chattering  as  if  all  the  gossip  of  a  sewing  society  had  to  be 
retailed  before  we  got  away. 

'Tlease  note  that  one,"  my  host  said,  "for  while  I  can- 


42  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

riot  say  that  I  have  much  hope  of  bringing  it  down,  yet  I 
expect  to  exert  some  influence  over  it,  and  you  may  be 
interested  in  noting  the  effect." 

We  then  remained  silent,  and  I  kept  pretty  close  watch 
upon  the  animal.  Soon  its  chatter  grew  less  and  it  became 
more  quiet  in  its  movements. 

"That,"  said  my  host  *'is  the  first  step  in  monkey  hyp- 
notism— to  get  it  to  stop  talking.  And  I  might  observe 
it  is  the  same  in  affecting  the  human  mind.  The  first  step 
with  a  chatterbox  is  to  get  it  to  stop  its  chatter.  Just 
what  connection  there  is  between  this  and  the  intellect  you 
may  figure  out  yourself.  But  the  conclusion  is  quite  evi- 
dent. Mesmerism  works  on  the  brain  and  you  must  get 
the  brain  to  work  on  first." 

Again  he  lapsed  into  silence  and  I  watched  the  monkey. 
Its  chatter  ceased  entirely  and  it  became  motionless.  But 
at  this  stage  the  other  monkeys  to  whom  it  had  been  talk- 
ing noticed  the  change  and  gathered  around  it.  At  first 
they  had  paid  no  attention  to  its  silence ;  for  even  a  monkey 
does  not  talk  all  the  time.  But  when  it  ceased  talking 
entirely  they  knew  something  was  wrong,  and  being 
aware,  of  course,  of  our  presence,  suspected  that  one  of  us 
was  working  upon  their  companion.  At  first  they  chat- 
tered to  him  and,  gaining  no  answer,  at  length  fell  upon 
him  tooth  and  nail  and  gave  him  such  a  pulling  as  no 
monkey  could  stand  and  not  resist.  He  resisted.  He 
fought.  His  friends  made  it  a  running  fight,  and  in  this 
way  our  victim  was  drawn  away.  My  host's  mind  could 
have  worked  at  any  distance,  he  explained  to  me,  and  at 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  43 

another  time  he  might  continue  the  experiment  even  after 
his  victim  had  disappeared,  but  just  now  he  had  an  en- 
gagement in  the  city  and  was  obliged  to  leave.  He  also 
explained  that  in  such  cases  absence  from  sight  was  a 
disadvantage,  as  one  was  obliged  to  bring  mesmerism  into 
play  also. 

After  my  friend  left  I  paid  more  attention  to  the  hunter 
who  already  had  his  game  bag  half  full.  On  our  way 
home  he  told  me  that  hunters  were  examined  once  a  year 
as  to  their  fitness  for  the  work,  and  were  appointed  to  the 
position  by  the  government.  They  had  rules  and  regula- 
tions as  we  have  in  our  country  and  which  we  call  game 
laws.  Thus  a  hunter  is  obliged  to  hunt  so  many  hours  a 
day  and  so  many  days  a  week  to  supply  the  patrons  who 
are  allotted  to  him,  the  whole  city  being  divided  into  dis- 
tricts. If  he  should  fail  to  secure  the  required  amount  of 
game  in  that  time  he  was  known  to  be  failing  in  power 
and  was  censured,  and  if  his  decline  continued,  was  de- 
graded to  some  more  menial  work.  But  this  rarely  hap- 
pened, as  the  exercise  of  the  will  power,  like  the  exercise 
of  the  muscle,  causes  it  to  grow  so  that  hunters  frequently 
graduate  into  higher  trades.  Fishermen  were  of  a  lower 
grade,  as  were  some  classes  of  shepherds.  Those  who  had 
care  of  sheep  were  of  the  very  lowest  class,  it  requiring 
very  little  brain  to  control  and  keep  them  in  bounds.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  herder  of  cattle  or  hogs  was  of  higher 
class,  as  requiring  more  brain  power,  and  ranked  next 
below  the  hunters  in  point  of  intelligence. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  SOUTH   POIvAR  WEATHER  BUREAU. 

A  few  days  after  my  fishing  and  hunting  excursions 
some  one  spoke  of  a  trip  to  an  island  about  ten  miles  from 
Theon,  which  was  described  as  very  beautiful  by  a  young 
man  whom  I  had  met  several  times,  and  I  expressed  a 
desire  to  visit  it. 

Or,  no,  was  it  I  or  the  young  man  whom  I  just  men- 
tioned? Judging  from  what  I  learned  afterward  I  am 
now  half  inclined  to  think  it  was  his  suggestion. 

This  young  fellow,  who  was  known  by  the  euphonious 
name  of  Buda  Earn,  was  a  handsome  fellow,  clean  built 
and  pleasant  in  his  manners.  He  had  been  extremely 
agreeable  to  me  at  all  times  and  evinced  a  great  interest 
in  my  welfare.  Consequently  I  was  surprised  to  see  that 
both  Costa  and  his  daughter  seemed  at  all  times  averse 
to  our  intercourse. 

When  the  subject  of  visiting  this  island  was  broached 
I  was  eager  to  go,  and  at  first  it  seemed  as  if  my  desire 
would  be  gratified.  But  after  a  moment's  consideration 
Mr.  Costa  said : 

"It  would  be  a  delightful  trip,  but  really,  we  have  no 
way,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  of  getting  there,  and  will 
have  to  postpone  the  trip  a  few  days." 

"Will  not  your  boat  hold  me  as  well  as  you  ?"  I  inquired. 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  45 

"Not  the  boat  we  travel  in/'  he  replied  with  a  smile. 
"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Wilding,  that  there  is  not  a  boat,  a 
railroad  or  a  carriage  in  this  whole  country?" 

"Do  you  never  travel  about  ?  But  of  course  you  do,  for 
you  have  just  been  speaking  of  taking  a  trip  to  this  island. 
Really,  Mr.  Costa,  you  talk  in  enigmas." 

"After  all  I  have  explained  to  you!"  he  exclaimed  in 
mild  reproach.  "Pause  and  think,  my  friend.  What 
need  have  we  of  carriages  or  railroads?  When  we  wish 
to  take  a  journey,  we  step  into  our  bed  chamber,  lock  the 
door  to  prevent  intrusion  and  possible  disaster,  lie  down 
on  our  couch  and  project  our  astral  body  whithersoever 
we  wish.  Now^  if  it  w^ere  not  for  you,  we  would  each  do 
this  and,  in  a  second  of  time,  gather  upon  that  delightful 
island  where  I  and  my  family  have  passed  many  a  happy 
day.  By  the  way,  Winnie,  did  you  send  that  message  to 
Ackra?" 

"No,  father,  I  was  so  busy  that  I  did  not  get  time  to 
do  so." 

"Never  mind  now.  I  will  send  a  letter  instead.  My 
agent  must  have  it  this  morning." 

Now  I  had  heard  that  Ackra  was  fully  sixty  miles  from 
Theon  and  was  curious  to  know  what  my  host  meant  by 
sending  a  letter,  after  telling  me  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  railroads.  Perhaps,  however,  he  meant  a  telegram.  So 
I  asked : 

"But  you  have  the  telegraph  here,  I  suppose,  or  you 
could  not  communicate " 


46  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

He  looked  at  me  as  a  master  might  at  a  very  dull  pupil 
with  whom  he  wished  to  be  indulgent. 

"Again,  Mr.  Wilding,  again  ?  Have  you  forgotten  your 
experience  on  the  ice  fields  and  the  messages  sent  to  and 
from  them  ?  This  is  a  land  of  no  telegraph,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  we  need  none.  When  we  wish  to  communi- 
cate with  friends  or  business  connections  in  distant  cities 
we  merely  fix  our  minds  upon  the  message  to  be  sent  and 
it  is  at  once  transmitted  and  impressed  upon  the  mind  of 
the  one  for  whom  it  is  meant." 

"But  you  spoke  of  a  letter." 

"Yes,  and  to  explain  to  you  our  primitive  postal  sys- 
tem  I  will  send  one  now.  I  wish  to  communicate  with 
one  of  my  agents  in  Ackra.  If  you  will  excuse  me  for  a 
moment  I  will  write  it."  And  seating  himself  at  a  desk 
he  wrote  for  a  few  minutes  and  then,  turning  to  me,  said : 

"Here  is  a  note  I  have  just  written  to  my  agent  asking 
him  to  come  to  Theon  to-morrow  on  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness. We  will  receive  an  answer  in  a  few  minutes,  as  I 
know  he  is  always  at  his  office  at  this  time  of  day  and  will 
receive  my  note  at  once." 

So  saying,  he  arose  and,  holding  the  letter  lightly  in  one 
hand  above  his  head,  stood  in  silence.  I  watched  him 
closely  out  of  curiosity,  for  I  thought  he  was  acting 
strangely.  He  stood  there  for  a  moment  and  then — the 
letter  disappeared. 

"There,  it  is  gone,"  he  said,  sitting  down.  "In  five  min- 
utes we  should  have  an  answer." 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  47 

Then  we  chatted  together  about  a  variety  of  things  and 
I  had  nearly  let  the  incident  slip  from  my  mind  when  a 
note  fluttered  down  from  I  know  not  where,  and  fell  at 
his  feet. 

"Ah,  there  it  is,"  he  said,  opening  it.  "Yes,  he  will  be 
here  to-morrow,"  and  passed  the  note  to  me.  It  was  not 
in  Costa's  handwriting. 

The  agent  really  did  appear  the  next  day  and  I  met 
him,  although  Mr.  Costa  warned  me  not  to  approach  near 
or  attempt  to  touch  him.  From  which  I  gathered  that 
his  visit  to  us  was  made  in  his  astral  body. 

A  land  without  railroad  and  without  telegraph  and  yet 
where  business  was  carried  on  as  rapidly  as  in  my  own 
land.  No  conveyances  because  people  had  no  need  of 
them.  Messages  were  sent  swifter  than  by  electricity,  for 
what  can  fly  faster  than  one's  thoughts  ?  Notes  were  pro- 
jected by  some  mysterious  force  to  their  destination,  even 
though  it  were  miles  away.  I  alone  was  isolated  and  cut 
off  from  communication  with  the  rest  of  the  world. 


It  was  decided  that  by  the  third  day  a  boat  could  be 
built  to  make  the  trip  to  the  island,  and  that  day  being 
fixed  upon  for  the  excursion,  Winnie  asked  the  next 
morning  before  the  agent  arrived : 

"Father,  have  you  noticed  what  kind  of  weather  we  will 
have  that  day  ?  It  would  never  do  to  start  out  on  a  pleas- 
ure excursion  and  have  it  rain." 


48  The  Wreck  of  the  Soutli  Pole. 

"Yes,  dear,"  Costa  replied,  "I  looked  last  night.  It  will 
be  a  fair  day." 

I  smiled  at  their  childlike  trust  in  the  weather  prophet, 
and  said : 

"So  you  have  almanacs  and  weather  prophets  in  this 
country,  too?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "We  could  do  nothing  without  our 
weather  bureau." 

"Do  you  really  believe  that  they  can  predict  the  kind  of 
weather  you  will  have  on  a  certain  day?"  I  asked. 

"No,  certainly  not,"  Costa  replied.  "They  do  not  pre- 
dict.   They  make  the  weather." 

"Make  the  weather  ?"  and  I  laughed,  thinking  he  meant 
his  remark  as  a  joke. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  quite  seriously.  "Our  weather 
bureau  has  quite  different  duties  from  those  in  your  coun- 
try. There  they  study  conditions  and  predict  what  may 
possibly  come.  Here  the  bureau  is  composed  of  the 
strongest  minds  in  the  nation,  and  their  duty  is  to  decide 
upon  the  proper  kind  of  weather  for  certain  seasons  and 
days  and  then  see  that  the  country  has  it." 

My  smile  at  his  speech  was  so  pronounced  that  he  could 
not  help  noticing  my  skepticism  and  entered  into  an  ex- 
planation. 

"The  matter  is  quite  simple  and  entirely  in  line  with 
theosophy.  The  human  mind  can  control  the  elements, 
bring  storm  or  sunshine  as  it  wills.  Hence  our  bureau 
is  chosen  with  direct  reference  to  ability  of  mind.  It  de- 
cides upon  the  proper  kind  of  weather  for  certain  seasons, 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  49 

and  all  is  worked  out  with  mathematical  precision.  For 
instance,  we  have  found  that  a  certain  amount  of  rain  is 
necessary  for  growing  crops.  The  ground  should  have 
sufficient  moisture  in  it  before  planting  and  then  at  regular 
intervals  thereafter  rain  should  fall  if  the  crop  is  to  be  a 
success.  We  have  no  droughts  as  in  your  land,  where  it 
may  be  a  month  or  two  before  rain  falls.  Our  bureau 
looks  over  the  country,  learns  what  kind  of  grain  is  to  be 
grown  in  different  sections,  and  decides  upon  the  amount 
of  rain  needed  for  the  sections.  Another  point  in  our 
favor.  Sometimes  your  lands  are  swept  by  hot  winds  just 
as  the  grain  is  ripening.  We  never  allow  them  here.  You 
can  see  the  benefit  of  such  a  system.  We  wish  to  go  upon 
a  pleasure  excursion  day  after  to-morrow,  and  I  had  but 
to  look  in  the  report  of  our  weather  bureau  to  learn 
whether  the  bureau  had  decided  upon  rain  or  sunshine 
for  this  part  of  the  nation  on  that  day." 

The  third  day  our  boat  was  finished,  and  in  it  I  made 
the  journey  with  Costa  and  Winnie.  At  first  Buda  Earn 
had  insisted  that  he  and  I  go  alone,  but  this  proposal  was 
rejected  emphatically  by  both  my  host  and  his  daughter. 
When  we  were  on  the  water,  I  rowing,  Costa  said : 

"My  friend,  I  wish  to  warn  you  against  that  young 
man.  He  means  to  do  you  an  injury.  Avoid -him  as  much 
as  possible,  and  no  account  ever  trust  yourself  with  him 
alone." 

I  looked  my  surprise  before  I  replied : 

"You  astonish  me.    He  has  been  so  pleasant  and  agree- 


50  Tlie  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

able.  He  would  be  the  last  one  I  would  suspect  of  doing 
or  wishing  me  an  injury.  Are  you  sure  you  are  not  mis- 
taken." 

"As  sure  as  fate.  We  have  read  his  mind  ever  since  you 
came  to  our  home,  and  there  is  nothing  but  evil  in  it  for 
you.  But  he  is  trying  to  deceive  us.  None  but  the  Great 
Dissembler  could  do  that." 

"I  have  heard  you  mention  that  person  several  times 
and  I  am  curious  to  know  who  he  is  and  why  he  bears 
that  name.  You  always  speak  of  him  in  the  highest  terms 
as  to  ability,  and  yet  with  a  tone  in  your  voice  as  if  he 
was  not — what  shall  I  call  it — quite  as  you  would  like  him 
to  be." 

"The  Great  Dissembler  is  the  greatest  man  in  the  state, 
and  if  you  ever  have  need  of  help  in  this  country  which  I 
cannot  give  I  advise  you  to  go  to  him.  At  the  earliest  op- 
portunity I  will  introduce  you,  for  1  fear  you  may  have 
need  of  him  before  we  are  through  with  Earn.  That  fel- 
low surely  means  you  mischief.  And  the  trouble  is,  he 
has  ability." 

Long  I  pondered  over  the  reasons  for  this  young  man's 
enmity  to  me.  That  evening  as  Costa  and  I  were  walking 
upon  the  shore  of  the  little  island  the  mystery  was  partially 
explained.  Borne  to  us  on  the  evening  breeze  came  the 
words : 

"Winnifred,  you  cannot  deny  that  you  might  have  be- 
come my  wife  if  this  stranger  had  not  come  between  us." 

The  words  were  Harn's.     What  her  answer  was  I  did 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  51 

not  hear,  for  very  promptly  my  host  turned  away,  so  that 
we  heard  no  more. 

Earn  was  jealous. 

Had  he  any  reason  for  it? 

My  heart  beat  a  trifle  faster  as  I  meditated  upon  the 
supposition. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SOUTH   POLAR  POUCE:  BUREAU. 

Next  morning  my  host  told  me  that  a  gang  of  robbers 
had  been  arrested  the  evening  before,  and  if  I  cared  to  do 
so  we  would  go  to  the  police  court  to  witness  the  trial. 

"Whose  house  did  they  break  into?"  I  cried. 

He  looked  at  me  in  astonishment  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  remembering  how  ignorant  I  was  of  the  customs  of 
Theon  very  courteously  concealed  his  astonishment  and 
explained  to  me : 

"There  is  seldom  any  crime  committed  in  this  country. 
The  great  mistake  nations  in  other  parts  of  the  world 
make  is  in  waiting  until  a  crime  is  committed  before  steps 
are  taken  to  prevent  it.  You  have  a  proverb  about  it  in 
your  language — 'Locking  the  stable  after  the  horse  is 
stolen.'  " 

"But  how  can  you  prevent  it?" 

"Have  you  been  so  long  with  us  and  not  learned  that 
we  are  all  mind  readers?" 

"But,"  I  queried,  still  far  at  sea,  "you  have  police  pa- 
trolling the  streets.  I  have  seen  them,  and  a  fine  looking 
body  of  men  they  are." 

"Yes,  of  course.  We  have  our  police  system,  and  it  is 
very  nearly  perfect.  But  policemen  here  are  to  prevent 
crime,  not  to  catch  the  criminal  after  it  is  committed." 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  53 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  follow  you." 

**It  is  very  simple.  As  I  said,  we  are  all  mind  readers. 
Now,  if  v/e  alwaj'S  knew  what  man  was  inclined  to  rob 
us  we  could  read  his  mind  and  learn  when.  But  take  my 
case.  '  I  cannot  spend  my  time  reading  the  minds  of  every 
person  in  the  city  to  see  if  my  property  is  safe.  So  we 
have  police  to  do  it  for  us.  They  constantly  patrol  the 
streets,  reading  the  minds  of  those  they  meet,  and  a  re- 
port is  made  of  each  suspect  when  guard  is  relieved,  which 
occurs  about  every  three  hours.  Of  course  they  do  not 
mentally  interrogate  every  one  they  meet  on  the  street, 
that  would  be  impossible;  but  in  the  course  of  a  month, 
with  the  help  of  the  reserve  guard,  which  is  stationed  in 
the  inner  court,  every  person  in  the  city  passes  under  their 
scrutiny. 

"But  this  attention  is  centered  chiefly  upon  the  *sus- 
pects.'  When  a  person  falls  under  suspicion  he  is  kept 
under  constant  surveillance.  To  make  it  plain  to  you: 
While  we  are  sitting  here,  suppose  I  read  in  your  mind 
that  you  had  a  desire  to  steal  my  watch.  (I  beg  your  par- 
don for  even  hinting>at  it  in  way  of  illustration.)  I  would 
report  the  fact  to  the  chief  of  police,  and  an  officer  would 
be  detailed  to  take  you  under  his  surveillance.  Not  one 
thought  of  yours  could  be  concealed  from  him,  and  if  you 
determined  upon  the  theft,  you  most  likely  would  be  ar- 
rested before  you  could  commit  the  crime." 

"But  what  would  you  do  with  me  ?  I  would  have  done 
nothing  that  a  court  could  sentence  me  for !" 


54  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

"You  would  not  be  punished.  We  seldom  are  called 
upon  to  do  that,  and  when  we  are,  the  ceremony  is  made  a 
very  solemn  one,  indeed." 

"But  you  have  judges  and  courts  equal  to  any  I  have 
ever  seen  in  America." 

"Yes,  but  not  for  the  same  purpose.  Let  us  follow  the 
illustration  of  yourself.  When  you  were  arrested  you 
would  be  taken  into  the  court  and  your  record  produced 
by  the  policeman  who  had  been  watching  you.  From  this 
the  judge  would  decide,  not  as  to  your  guilt,  but  as  to  how 
far  inclined  towards  crime  your  intellect  had  become,  and 
would  sentence  you  accordingly." 

"Still  I  do  not  see  how  that  would  not  be  punishing  me 
for  something  I  had  not  done." 

"Not  at  all,  I  assure  you.  If  you  were  shown  to  be  not 
really  bad,  you  would  be  committed  to  reformatory  No. 
I,  as  it  is  called.  You  would  not  be  imprisoned.  On  the 
contrary,  you  would  at  once  be  set  at  liberty  and  no  re- 
strictions whatever  placed  upon  you.  But  you  would  be 
under  the  tutelage  of  the  reserve  judges  of  the  inner  court. 
They  are  chosen  from  the  purest  men  and  most  powerful 
minds  in  the  country.  In  other  words,  they  are  the  clergy 
of  the  land.  To  them  your  case  would  be  made  known 
and  your  record  given.  Each  one  would  take  you  under 
his  supervision  for  an  hour  a  day  and  would,  during  that 
hour,  direct  the  whole  power  of  his  mind  upon  yours  to 
drive  from  it  every  evil  thought.  There  would  not  be  a 
moment  of  the  day  when  their  minds  were  not  working 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  55 

upon  yours.  It  is  very  seldom  that  this  course  does  not 
succeed  in  reclaiming  the  suspect." 

''But  if  it  should  not?" 

"This  is  seldom  the  case.  But  when  it  does  fail,  if  the 
man  grows  worse,  he  is  committed  to  the  mental  hospital 
and  there  given  a  course  of  treatment." 

"I  am  curious  to  hear  more." 

"He  is  committed  to  the  hospital  for  a  certain  length  of 
time  which  the  judge  determines  upon,  according  to  the 
violence  of  his  disease.  But  he  is  not  punished.  On  the 
contrary,  his  surroundings  are  the  most  pleasant.  He 
has  pure  companions,  and  is  treated  according  to  his  dis- 
ease." 

"His  disease  ?    May  I  ask  what  you  mean  ?" 

"Suppose  his  disease  is  drunkenness.  The  disgrace  of  it 
is  placed  before  him  by  one  physician  for  an  hour.  Then 
succeeds  another  who  impresses  upon  his  mind  the  re- 
spectability of  sobriety.  Other  physicians  give  him  gen- 
eral moral  tone." 

"O,  you  mean  he  must  spend  his  time  listening  to  lec- 
tures. I  shouldn't  think  that  would  be  a  very  good  way 
of  reforming  a  criminal." 

"No.  no.  Lectures  would  be  the  last  thing  we  would 
think  of.  The  patient  knows  nothing  of  his  treatment 
except  that  it  is  going  on.  He  seldom,  if  ever,  sees  his 
physicians.  They,  as  the  judges  in  the  first  case,  work 
upon  his  mind  entirely  and  try  to  drive  out  the  evil  and 
fill  it  with  good  thoughts." 

"And  do  they  always  succeed  ?" 


56  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

"If  a  man  sets  his  will  against  them  he  can  combat  the 
wills  of  his  ph3^sicians  and  receive  no  benefit  from  their 
treatment — if  his  will  is  stronger  than  theirs.  We  have 
had  a  few  such  instances." 

''Andthen?" 

"They  redouble  the  corps  of  physicians." 

"You  spoke  of  his  pleasant  surroundings." 

"Yes.  That  is  under  the  supervision  of  his  nurses.  Each 
nurse  has  one  or  more  patients  under  his  or  her  care. 
They  look  after  the  surroundings,  the  environments,  see 
that  they  are  proper  and  conducive  to  his  reform.  And  to 
them  a  great  deal  is  due.  They  become  his  friends,  and 
attempt  to  lead  him  by  moral  suasion  away  from  evil. 
They  look  after  his  books.  They  see  to  it  that  time  does 
not  drag  or  the  life  in  the  hospital  prove  irksome.  They 
look  after  his  amusement  and  see  that  his  mind  is  kept 
in  a  healthy  condition,  so  as  to  be  receptive  of  good 
thoughts  from  his  physicians." 

"It  all  seems  very  strange  to  me." 

"Yes,  no  doubt  it  must  to  one  who  has  never  been  taught 
that  all  crime  and  all  evil  is  a  disease  which  must  be 
treated  as  such  as  much  as  any  ailment  of  the  body." 

During  this  conversation  we  had  been  preparing  to 
leave  the  house,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  my  host's  last  re- 
mark were  walking  down  the  broad  path  to  the  gate.  As 
we  pursued  our  way  along  the  street  my  mind  was  busy 
revolving  the  things  he  had  told  me.  One  point  seemed  a 
little  incongruous,  where  so  much  pains  was  taken  to  re- 
form a  criminal  before  he  had  committed  a  crime,  it  did 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  57 

not  seem  quite  consistent  that  his  case  should  be  tried  in 
open  court  and  visitors  allowed  to  be  present  to  hear  the 
evidence,  for  in  my  own  land  when  we  wish  to  save  a 
young  man  who  has  been  tempted  w^e  try  most  of  all  to 
keep  his  fault  from  becoming  known.  The  more  I 
thought  of  this  the  more  inconsistent  it  became  and  my 
friend,  no  doubt  reading  my  thoughts,  said : 

"Were  these  not  old  offenders  who  are  to  be  tried 
to-day  we  would  not  be  permitted  to  witness  the  examina- 
tion, for  when  a  man  is  first  brought  before  the  court  and 
sent  to  reformatory  No.  i,  the  whole  proceeding  is  man- 
aged so  very  quietly  that  few  need  know  of  it.  But  after 
a  man  has  been  under  the  supervision  of  the  seven  judges 
of  the  inner  court  and  then  turns  out  bad,  we  consider  it 
for  the  best  interests  of  society  that  the  public  at  large 
know  what  disease  he  is  inclined  to  in  order  to  protect 
itself  against  him.  The  men  whose  trial  we  are  about  to 
witness  have  passed  through  this  stage,  and  hence  their 
trial  will  be  public." 

When  we  reached  the  temple  of  justice  I  found  a  large 
marble  structure,  the  interior  of  which,  while  very  simple 
in  design,  gave  one  the  idea  of  loftiness  and  grandeur. 
At  one  end,  upon  a  platform,  stood  the  judge's  desk,  be- 
hind which  sat  one  of  the  criminal  judges,  of  which  there 
were  ten  in  the  state. 

The  prisoners  were  seated  in  front  of  him,  with  no 
guards  near,  at  which  I  expressed  my  surprise.  But  my 
host  told  me  in  a  low  tone  that  the  odylic  force  which 


58  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

was  being  concentrated  upon  them  was  of  such  power 
that  they  could  move  only  as  the  judge  desired. 

There  was  really  little  examination  of  the  witnesses 
themselves,  the  principal  part  of  the  trial  consisting  of 
the  policemen's  testimony.  As  we  entered,  the  sergeant 
of  the  platoon  which  had  the  burglars  in  surveillance  was 
speaking. 

''Six  months  ago,"  he  said,  ''these  men  were  brought 
into  the  inner  court  and  the  records  read  concerning  them. 
Three  at  that  time  were  friends  and  conspiring  to  rob. 
The  minds  of  the  others  were  tainted  with  the  same  dis- 
ease, but  as  yet  had  formed  no  combination.  Since  then 
I  and  my  division  have  been  keeping  them  under  con- 
stant surveillance.  Each  possesses  a  strong  will,  which 
he  placed  in  opposition  to  that  of  the  seven  judges.  Three 
months  ago  the  whole  band  drew  closer  together.  They 
had  not  at  that  time  settled  upon  any  particular  house 
to  rob,  but  frequently  held  communication  with  one  an- 
other upon  the  injustice  of  some  men  being  rich  while 
others  were  poor,  and  some  men  honored  with  office  while 
others  were  but  common  citizens  in  a  land  which  teaches 
the  equality  of  man.  Gradually  this  idea  grew  in  their 
minds  until  they  determined  upon  an  equal  division  of 
wealth,  and  to  carry  out  this  idea  decided  upon  robbing 
the  wealthiest  man  in  the  city.  Every  preparation  had 
been  made  and  the  robbery  would  have  occurred  last  night 
had  we  not  arrested  them." 

"Is  this  true?"  asked  the  judge  of  the  prisoners. 

"It  is,"  they  replied.     For  in  court  where  there  can  be 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  59 

no  deceit  and  where  mind  reads  mind,  there  are  no  spoken 
lies. 

Sentence  was  immediately  passed  by  the  judge.  The 
three  original  conspirators  were  committed  to  ward  i  of 
the  burglary  hospital,  two  of  the  others  to  ward  2  of  the 
same  institution,  and  the  rest,  whose  minds  were  not  so 
badly  diseased,  to  ward  3.  As  soon  as  sentence  was 
passed  the  men  arose  and,  without  guards,  marched  di- 
rectly to  the  hospital,  the  odylic  force,  my  host  explain- 
ing, compelling  them  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  GREAT  DISSEMBLER  APPEARS. 

I  had  an  illustration  of  how  Buda  Earn  loved  me  before 
we  left  the  island  that  day,  but  I  did  not  realize  it  until 
we  had  returned  home. 

We  four  had  been  standing  together  upon  a  hill  sloping 
down  toward  the  sea  when  Earn  turned  the  conversation 
toward  the  power  of  mind  over  nature.  I  was  somewhat 
skeptical,  although  Costa  had  hinted  at  it  several  times. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  or  try  to  make  me  believe 
you  have  any  power  over  that  tree  yonder,  other  than 
physical  ?" 

"Certainly  we  do,"  replied  Costa.  "You  shall  see  an 
exhibition  of  it  at  once.  I  shall  not  leave  your  side,  and 
yet  that  tree  shall  fall  to  the  earth.     Be  silent." 

We  all  remained  for  the  space  of  a  couple  of  minutes, 
and  I  knew  Costa  was  concentrating  his  mind  upon  some- 
thing, and  I  imagined  it  was  the  work  he  had  laid  out. 
In  a  moment  more  the  tree  began  to  lean  heavily  toward 
the  south,  and  then  came  down  with  a  crash. 

"You  see,"  was  all  Costa  said,  and  I  was  dumfounded. 

Soon  after  that  I  strayed  away  from  the  others  for  a 
moment  and  stood  alone  a  few  rods  from  there  and  was 
gazing  out  over  the  water.     Suddenly  I  heard  a  cry  of 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  6i 

warning,  and  was  just  in  time  to  spring  away  from  a 
giant  boulder  which  was  rolHng  down  upon  me. 

"Whatever  loosened  that?"  I  asked  in  some  surprise 
as  it  rolled  by  me  and  plunged  into  the  sea. 

The  faces  of  both  Costa  and  Winnie  grew  grave,  and 
they  looked  at  Earn  suspiciously,  but  said  nothing.  Soon 
after  they  proposed  that  we  start  upon  our  return  to 
Theon. 

Nothing  was  said  about  the  narrow  escape  I  had  from 
death  during  the  journey,  but  after  we  had  reached  home 
Costa  drew  me  into  the  parlor  and  said : 

''Wilding,  it  is  as  I  feared.  Your  life  is  in  danger 
as  long  as  you  remain  in  this  land." 

"I  see  nothing  in  the  rolling  of  a  boulder  more  than 
I  might  expect  in  any  land,"  I  replied. 

"And  yet  there  was  more.  And  sometimes  I  grow  al- 
most impatient  with  your  obtuseness.  After  the  exhibi- 
tion I  gave  you  of  the  power  of  mind  over  nature,  has 
not  the  suspicion  come  to  you  that  that  rock  was  rolled 
downward  on  purpose  to  cause  your  death?" 

"Well,  no,  I  can't  say  that  it  has." 

"Well,  I  am  certain  that  it  was.  In  fact,  I  have  very 
good  proof  that  it  was." 

"And,  of  course,  you  suspect  Earn?" 

"I  do." 

"But  if  he  was  exerting  his  mind  to  encompass  my 
death  at  that  particular  moment,  why  was  it  that  you  could 
not  read  it  in  his  thoughts  and  so  prevent  it?" 


62  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

"Because  he  was  not  the  direct  cause,  which  makes 
your  danger  all  the  greater." 

*'If  he  was  not  the  direct  cause,  then  who  was?  I  con- 
fess my  obtuseness  allows  me  to  be  puzzled  by  your  ex- 
planation." 

"Either  Winnie  or  I  was  reading  his  thoughts  the  whole 
day.  Only  once  was  there  anything  suspicious  in  it,  and 
that  was  a  moment  before  the  rock  fell.  Then  he  sent 
a  message  to  some  one,  I  know  not  whom,  which  merely 
said: 

"  'Now  is  the  time.' 

"What  those  words  meant  we  would  have  been  unable 
to  guess  if  it  had  not  been  that  the  rock  came  crashing 
down  the  instant  after." 

"My  dear  sir,"  I  interrupted,  "are  you  not  too  sus- 
picious?" 

Costa's  face  clouded. 

"Really,  you  irritate  me.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well 
to  leave  you  alone  to  your  destruction." 

His  manner  was  so  pained  that  I  at  once  was  sorry 
to  have  offended  so  good  a  friend,  and  pleaded  with  him 
to  bear  with  my  stupidity  and  I  would  try  not  to  offend 
him  again. 

"What  we  fear,"  he  continued,  "is  that  he  is  in  collu- 
sion with  a  band  of  men  which  the  police  has  had  an 
inkling  of  for  some  time,  a  sort  of  revolutionary  club 
which  has  sprung  up  during  the  last  ten  years.  I  have 
pretty  good  evidence  that  he  is  a  leader  in  it,  and  we 
fear  that  he  has  enlisted  it«or  some  of  its  members  to  assist 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  63 

him  in  compassing  your  destruction.  If  this  were  the 
case  it  would  have  been  easy  for  him  to  have  arranged 
for  several  of  them  to  be  on  the  island  that  day  waiting 
an  opportunity  to  kill  you  in  a  manner  which  could  not 
be  laid  upon  him.  As  he  was  with  us,  he  knew  we  would 
be  upon  the  alert,  and  would  know  that  he  exerted  no 
power  himself.  Then  if  his  friends  could  accomplish  his 
purpose  no  charge  could  be  made  against  him." 

''But  if  others  were  there  on  the  island,  how  could  they 
conceal  themselves  so  effectually  ?  You  saw  no  one  when 
the  rock  fell?" 

"You  forget  that  they  were  all  in  their  astral  bodies, 
and  that  the  astral  body  is  invisible  at  will." 

"To-day  I  will  make  an  investigation  and  learn  if  any 
of  the  people  I  suspect  were  away  on  a  journey  to-day, 
and  if  so,  will  consider  my  suspicions  correct." 

The  next  evening  Costa  came  to  my  room  and  said : 

"Mr.  Wilding,  six  of  the  revolutionary  society  I  spoke 
of  were  absent  yesterday.  This  affair  of  yours  has  be- 
come so  complicated  that  there  is  only  one  help  for  you. 
We  must  apply  to  the  Great  Dissembler.  I  will  introduce 
you  to  him  this  evening." 

Accordingly  we  sallied  out  and  walked  to  a  villa  about 
a  mile  from  the  Costa  residence.  We  found  a  man  whose 
head  and  face  denoted  power  more  strongly  than  any  head 
and  face  I  had  ever  seen.  And  yet  the  face  was^a  perfect 
blank,  as  to  expression.  It  was  a  sphinx  head.  I  could 
no  more  have  told  from  it  what  the  man  was  thinking  of 


64  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

or  whether  we  were  welcome  or  the  contrary  than,  to  use 
a  common  expression,  I  could  fly. 

Costa  stated  the  case  to  him  and  he  said : 

''I  will  take  the  matter  under  advisement  and  let  you 
know  from  time  to  time  what  not  to  do." 

"What  not  to  do?"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes.  In  your  case  there  is  nothing  to  do.  The  thing 
is  to  avoid  doing  anything.  There  will  be  a  pretty  stiff 
fight,  and  just  what  the  end  will  be  I  cannot  tell.  It  may 
overturn  the  world." 

This  time  it  was  Costa  who  was  shocked. 

"I  mean  it,"  the  Great  Dissembler  reaffirmed.  "This  is 
not  a  little  love  affair  between  two  men  and  a  girl.  We 
have  the  whole  revolutionary  society  arrayed  against  the 
state  for  its  overthrow.  Your  matter  is  but  an  incident 
in  the  war  which  is  coming  upon  us  as  fast  as  mundane 
affairs  can  come.  But  I  will  keep  an  eye  upon  you,  and  I 
would  recommend  that  you  never  venture  out  without  my 
friend  Costa  or  his  daughter,  for  a  time.  You  see,  you 
cannot  fight  with  the  weapons  of  Theos,  where  lOO  minds 
may  be  concentrated  upon  you,  moving  even  the  rocks 
and  trees  for  your  destruction.  Why,  man,  those  fellows 
could  lure  you  to  your  destruction  and  you  never  realize 
it.  Have  you  never  had  any  longing  to  return  to  your 
boat  on  the  icebergs?" 

"Yes,  strange  to  say,  that  has  been  in  my  mind  almost 
continually  for  the  past  three  days." 

"I  thought  so.     Well,  forewarned  is  forearmed.     They 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  65 

would  entice  you  away  to  perish  of  cold  in  the  ice  fields. 
But  we  will  see  to  that." 

All  this  was  Greek  to  me  and  I  said  so. 

"Influence  of  mind  upon  mind,  my  child,"  the  Great 
Dissembler  replied.  ''With  100  minds  willing  you  to  go 
wandering  out  on  the  barren  ice  fields,  how  can  your  one 
poor,  weak  mind  resist?  Costa,  you  must  help  him 
counteract  this  force." 

It  will  be  needless  to  follow  all  the  machinations  of 
Earn  and  his  friends  against  me,  for  they  were,  as  the 
Great  Dissembler  said,  but  incidents  in  the  great  war 
which  was  gathering.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  for  weeks 
there  was  not  an  hour  of  the  day  in  which  some  new  dan- 
ger did  not  menace  me.  And  how  nobly  Costa  and  his 
daughter  stood  by  me,  words  cannot  express.  It  was 
after  one  of  these  trials  that  Winnie  said  to  me : 

''Do  you  remember  the  first  conversation  we  had  when 
you  arrived  at  our  home?  You  told  me  you  liked  the 
Winnie  of  the  plains,  the  Winnie  who  faded  away  from 
you  better  than  the  one  you  saw  before  you  in  flesh  and 
blood  then.  And  I  told  you  I  was  glad  you  did.  You 
did  not  understand  it  then." 

"No." 

"It  was  because  you  loved  my  soul,  as  it  was,  free  from 
the  body,  better  than  with  its  earthly  casing.  That 
meant  that  you  cared  more  for  me,  myself,  as  I  really  am. 
For  the  soul  without  the  body  shows  what  one  really  is, 
better  than  when  hidden  by  the  body." 

That  night  I  wrote  this : 


66  The  Wreck  of  tlie  Soutli  Pole. 

SONG  TO  WINNIE. 

Dear  gracious  hand  I  bend  o'er  thee 
With  reverence  deep  as  ever  knee 
Was  bent  before  the  virgin's  shrine 
By  devotee  of  her  divine. 

With  reverent  heart  I  bend  over  thee, 
Dear  gracious  hand  so  kind  to  me, 
And  love's  sweet  kiss  on  the  impress; 
I  dare  no  more,  I  can  no  less. 

Dear  gracious  hand  of  fairest  shape, 
O  dear,  white  hand,  whose  fingers  tape; 
May  that  day  come,  full  soon,  I  pray, 
When  you  may  never  slip  away. 

One  day  I  called  upon  the  Great  Dissembler  and  in  the 
course  of  our  conversation  asked  him : 

"How  have  you  succeeded  in  eluding  the  surveillance  of 
the  police  and  the  judges  of  the  inner  court?"  I  saked  of 
the  dissembler.     He  laughed  lightly  and  replied : 

"It  is  almost  suicidal  for  me  to  tell  you,  for  in  order  to 
do  so  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  keep  my  mind  on  the 
business,  in  which  case  the  officers  who  may  have  their 
minds  directed  to  me  may  read  the  whole  story.  But  I 
will  chance  it.  I  am  known  as  the  Great  Dissembler  be- 
cause no  one  has  ever  yet  been  able  to  make  out  what  I 
was  thinking  of  or  what  I  proposed  doing.  My  plan  is 
this :  Early  in  life  I  saw  that  for  a  bright  young  man  to 
succeed  in  this  benighted  country,  it  would  be  necessary 
for  him  to  have  his  wits  about  him,  and  to  be  able  to  dis- 
semble his  thoughts.     For,  suppose  I  should  invent  a  life- 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  67 

saving  or  a  labor-saving  machine,  what  was  to  keep 
some  other  fellow  from  stealing  my  idea  before  it  was  per- 
fected? Or,  suppose  I  should  write  a  beautiful  poem. 
There  is  no  law  in  this  country  for  copyrighting  one's 
thoughts,  and  so  any  one  who  was  keeping  tab  on  me 
could  write  the  same  poem  and  either  get  it  printed  first 
or  claim  mine  was  a  forgery.  You  see  the  difficulties 
which  meet  a  talented  young  man  in  this  country." 

I  intimated  that  I  did. 

"So,  in  early  life,  as  I  observed  a  few  minutes  ago,  I 
decided  to  put  my  wits  to  work  to  outwit  every  other  man 
in  the  land.  It  was  a  big  undertaking,  but  I  did  it  by 
concentrating  my  will  and  learning  to  think  one  thing 
when  I  meant  something  exactly  opposite,  and  learning 
to  think  of  half  a  dozen  things  at  the  same  time.  Thus, 
when  I  have  been  planning  any  particular  work  of  devil- 
ment, I  give  it  only  a  moment's  thought  at  a  time,  and 
then  let  my  mind  wander  off  into  the  paths  of  virtue. 
Unless  I  happen  to  be  under  the  surveillance  of  the  police, 
the  chances  are  one  in  a  thousand  that  any  one  should  be 
reading  my  mind  at  the  exact  time  that  thought  flashes 
through  it.  And  if  they  do,  as  it  is  succeeded  almost  im- 
mediately by  the  most  beautiful  and  virtuous  thoughts, 
they  take  it  as  merely  a  temptation  of  the  evil  one  which  I 
have  nobly  driven  away.  In  this  manner  I  have  no  doubt 
I  have  often  won  the  respect  and  regard  of  those  high  up 
in  morals  and  the  state. 

''Then  I  cultivated  the  habit  of  jumbling  up  my 
thoughts  into  the  worst  mess  you  could  imagine,  and 


68  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

would  let  them  fly  from  philosophy  to  poetry  and  from 
morals  to  immortality  and  back  again  that  no  one  could 
fasten  upon  them.  One  second  I  would  be  planning  to 
stop  the  moon  in  her  career,  and  the  next  formulating  a 
new  prayer  for  the  temple  or  an  ode  to  purity.  In  this 
way  I  secured  the  name  of  the  Great  Dissembler. 

"You  wonder  that  I  did  not  go  crazy.  Well,  an  or- 
dinary mind  would.  But  I  had  so  strengthened  mine  by 
every  known  means  that  it  stood  the  strain,  and  now  if 
any  weak  mortal  has  a  bit  of  deviltry  he  wants  done,  he 
comes  to  me  and  I  do  it  for  him.  But  always  with  the 
understanding  that  he  never  thinks  of  me  or  it  again.  To 
insure  this,  I  tell  him  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

"And  I  don't,  unless  it  is  something  that  will  give  me 
amusement. 

"If,  however,  a  person  comes  to  me  a  second  time  and  I 
know  he  cannot  keep  his  mind  off  the  subject,  I  put  him 
into  a  hypnotic  sleep  until  the  business  is  over. 

"It  helped  me  in  politics,  too,  as  none  of  my  opponents 
could  ever  tell  what  I  was  going  to  say  or  do.  In  this 
way  I  won  my  way  to  the  leadership  of  politics  and  be- 
came a  power  in  the  state.  It  is  true  that  many  people 
have  suspicions  of  me,  and  look  upon  me  askance.  But 
what  of  that?  They  never  can  catch  me.  For  weeks  at 
a  stretch  I  have  had  officers  on  my  trail  and,  well,  I  led 
them  a  merry  dance.  I  believe  their  brains  were  some- 
what jumbled  up  at  the  end  of  the  week.  Yes,  I  rather 
believe  so.  How  I  kept  their  poor  brains  on  the  rack ! 
One  minute  it  would  be  an  abstract  problem  in  mathe- 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  69 

matics,  and  the  next  one  in  philosophy.  Then  a  line  or 
so  of  poetry,  and  next  a  dip  into  morals  and  theology. 
They  never  could  catch  me.  And  then  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  laughing  at  them  the  next  time  we  met  and  pointing 
out  a  few  mistakes  they  had  made  in  their  report  to  the 
chief.  Oh,  yes,  this  life  of  mine  has  had  its  relaxations, 
if  it  is  a  hard  one. 

''Then,  too,  I  have  a  contrivance  into  which  I  can  retire 
whenever  it  is  necessary  for  any  prolonged  thinking.  I 
will  show  it  to  you." 

Opening  a  door,  he  conducted  me  into  a  small  room, 
and  closing  the  entrance,  bid  me  sit  down. 

"This  room,"  he  explained,  "is  thought  proof.  As  you 
must  have  learned  by  this  time,  thought  messages  travel 
through  a  thin,  imponderable  ether,  which  fills  all  space ; 
travels  as  sound  and  light  do  through  air.  Now,  if  you 
can  create  a  perfect  vacuum,  there  could  be  no  sound.  So, 
if  you  could  create  a  perfect  vacuum  as  to  this  ether  of 
which  I  speak — and  which  I  call  ether,  because  there  is  no 
other  name  by  which  you  would  understand  me  as  well — 
if  w^e  could  create  such  a  vacuum,  then  no  thought  could 
pass  through  it.  This  is  one  of  my  early  inventions. 
There  is  a  perfect  vacuum  all  around  this  room,  which  is 
built  of  glass.  Whenever  I  have  a  particularly  difficult 
problem  to  study  out,  I  retire  into  this  room.  Then  'my 
friends'  who  are  keeping  tab  on  me  to  catch  me,  are  dum- 
founded,  for  I  have  mysteriously  disappeared ! 

"There  have  been  many  of  these  mysterious  disappear- 
ances lately.     When  I  retire  into  this  room,  not  all  the 


70  The  Wreck  of  tlie  Soutli  Pole. 

police  and  inner  judges  in  the  world  can  trace  me.  They 
do  not  know  whether  I  am  on  the  confines  of  the  earth, 
floating  through  space,  or  down  at  the  south  pole.  It 
always  amuses  me  after  one  of  these  periods  of  retire- 
ment to  pay  a  visit  to  the  police  court  and  have  a  chat  with 
*my  friends'  and  ask  them  how  things  have  been  going 
while  I  was  awa3^     It  amuses  me  and  does  no  harm." 

All  this  was  so  confusing,  coming  upon  the  heels  of  the 
display  of  power  I  had  seen  in  arresting  criminals  before 
they  committed  the  crime,  that  I  asked  the  Great  Dis- 
sembler : 

"Why  do  not  the  police  detect  these  fellows?" 

''Because  the  police  belong  to  their  club.  Half  the 
judges  are  with  them." 

Then  I  realized  that  my  case  was  precarious.  The 
Great  Dissembler  said  the  state  of  the  state  was  desperate. 


CHAPTER  X. 

II.EAVETHEOS. 

But  from  that  time  on  to  the  end  events  moved  rapidly. 

The  revolutionary  club  gathered  themselves  for  a 
grand,  final  effort,  coming  out  from  their  secret  working, 
if  such  a  thing  could  be  said  to  exist  in  that  country,  and 
plainly  hurled  defiance  at  the  rest  of  the  state.  It  was 
then  found  that  they  numbered,  as  was  stated,  many  of 
the  police  force  and  several  judges  of  the  country. 

But  I  can  only  describe  the  warfare  as  a  gigantic  battle 
of  the  elements,  for  not  a  sword  was  flashed,  not  a  gun 
was  fired,  and  there  was  no  political  wrangling.  To  a 
stranger  visiting  the  country  it  would  seem  as  if  nothing 
was  going  on. 

And  yet  there  was  a  strange  force  at  work  throughout 
the  whole  state,  mind  working  upon  mind,  all  the  rest  and 
quiet  overturned,  and  men's  worst  passions  brought  to  the 
surface. 

It  was  like  the  atmosphere,  hot  and  oppressive,  charged 
with  electricity  before  a  thunderstorm. 

But  after  the  battle  had  been  waged  for  several  days, 
whether  by  choice  of  force,  the  revolutionary  club  and 
its  followers  retired  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  inland  sea 
and  encamped  upon  a  charming  plain  directly  across  from 
Theon. 


72  The  Wreck  of  tlie  SoutH  Pole. 

Then  came  the  Great  Dissembler's  final  move,  a  move 
worthy  of  a  great  general.  One  evening,  when  I  called 
upon  him,  he  said,  with  as  much  of  a  gleam  in  his  eye  as 
he  would  allow,  that  he  had  the  enemy  exactly  where  he 
wanted  them. 

''They  are  located  exactly  across  from  us,  the  South 
Pole  being  directly  between  us  and  them.  Are  you 
enough  of  an  astronomer  to  know  concerning  the  preces- 
sion of  the  equinoxes  as  it  is  commonly  called,  by  which 
the  direction  of  the  poles  to  the  earth's  plane  is  changed  ? 
This  also  causes  a  change  in  the  zones  of  the  earth.  In 
the  legends  of  the  earth  there  have  been  one  of  these,  at 
least.  Ages  ago  the  North  Temperate  zone  was  a  barren 
ice  field,  and  countries  now  covered  with  ice  were  in- 
habited. The  change  which  is  about  to  take  place  will 
bring  back  the  old  order  of  things.  Climate  will  change 
all  over  the  world. 

"The  wrench  here  at  the  pole  will  be  sudden,  but  the 
changes  in  other  parts  of  the  world  be  more  gradual.  In 
your  own  home  in  the  United  States  there  will  be  cyclones 
and  tornadoes  and  earthquakes.  These  will  gradually  in- 
crease in  number  and  intensity  until  the  climate  becomes 
warmer  and  at  last  merges  into  the  tropical. 

''But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  state  of  afifairs 
here.  What  it  means  is  that  by  the  position  of  the  revolu- 
tionary force  it  will  be  utterly  destroyed.  They  are  on 
the  side  of  the  pole  where  the  reaction  will  come  when  we 
jar  the  pole  from  its  mooring. 

"There  will  be  a  general  breaking  up  of  the  ice  barriers 


The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole.  73 

in  that  direction  and  a  change  in  the  surface  of  this  inland 
sea,  which  will  wash  that  shore  with  tidal  waves  against 
which  none  can  stand." 

"Not  even  a  spirit?" 

"Oh,  yes,  if  those  rascals  wish  to  project  their  astral 
bodies  out  into  space  they  can  do  so,  but  that  will  really 
mean  passing  into  the  spirit  world.  With  life  once  gone 
from  their  bodies,  they  can  never  re-enter  them." 

"But  will  not  they  know  of  the  change?" 

"They  know  it  may  come  soon,  but  not  that  it  will  come 
to-day.  I  alone  of  this  whole  people  really  know  the  ex- 
act hour  in  which  this  change  will  come,  for  the  reason 
that  during  all  these  ages  a  discrepancy  of  several  days 
has  come  in  our  method  of  keeping  time.  Neither  do  I 
think  that  those  fellows  have  any  idea  of  its  suddenness. 
Few  of  us  were  living  when  the  last  one  came !" 

"When  do  you  calculate  it  will  occur?" 

"In  just  one  hour  from  now." 

I  was  startled,  but  he  assured  me  there  was  no  need  of 
fear.  "I  will  look  after  you,  but  you  may  be  obliged  to 
leave  here." 

Winnie  and  I  had  been  a  little  more  confidential  than 
usual  the  evening  before,  and  in  the  course  of  the  con- 
versation she  said : 

"I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  warn  you  of  the  Great  Dis- 
sembler.    We  really  know  not  on  which  side  he  is." 

"Have  you  any  cause  to  doubt  him  ?"  I  asked. 

"No,  that  is  just  the  trouble.     No  one  ever  has.     But 


74  The  Wreck  of  tHe  South  Pole. 

this  we  do  know,  that  the  revolutionary  forces  count  him 
on  their  side.     He  is  playing  a  deep  game." 

But  we  were  wrong  in  cur  suspicion.  The  Great  Dis- 
sembler w^as  truly  our  friend,  although  he  failed  in  his 
calculation,  and  the  wreck  of  the  South  Pole  did  not  come 
as  he  expected.  The  day  passed  and  no  change  came. 
Then  we  found  that  those  rascals  on  the  other  side  had  a 
purpose  in  going  to  the  place  they  did.  They  proposed  to 
keep  the  pole  where  it  was!  And  were  making  a  com- 
bined effort  with  the  odylic  force  at  the  comm.and  of  each 
to  retain  it  in  position.  Whether  they  had  any  power,  or 
whether  the  time  had  not  yet  come  when  the  precession  of 
the  equinoxes  should  get  down  to  work,  I  cannot  say. 
But  it  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  the  change  came, 
and  then  the  Great  Dissembler  had  his  forces  arranged  in 
Theos  and  was  fighting  his  great  battle. 

The  wreck  came,  and  with  it  the  defeat  of  the  revolu- 
tionists. They  perished  to  a  man.  But  in  the  great  com- 
motion of  which  was  to  change  the  climate  of  the  whole 
world,  turn  ice  fields  into  pastures  and  green  fields  into 
barren  wastes,  just  as  had  been  done  ages  ago,  there  was 
such  a  tremendous  earthquake  that  a  rift  was  made  in  the 
ice  walls  around  us  and  after  days  of  terror  and  suffer- 
ing, I  found  myself  once  more  near  the  place  where  I  had 
first  landed.  There  was  a  ship  near,  which  had  landed  a 
boat  and  was  exploring  the  bergs  for  seal.  They  were 
from  New  London,  and  took  me  aboard,  much  against  my 
will.     I  protested  that  I  wished  to  return  to  the  city  of 


The  Wreck  of  the  Soutli  Pole.  75 

Theos,  but  they  took  this  merely  as  the  ravings  of  a  ship- 
wrecked mariner  who  had  been  wandering  upon  the  ice. 
And  recent  events  had  so  dazed  me  that  there  was  some 
excuse  for  their  behef. 

We  sailed  north  at  once,  and  after  touching  at  a  few 
islands  between  the  great  Antarctic  continent  and  the 
Horn,  met  a  severe  storm  which  wrecked  our  ship.  We 
put  off  in  the  boats,  but  for  all  I  have  ever  heard  they 
were  wrecked  also,  except  the  one  I  was  in.  It  carried  me 
here  to  this  harbor,  my  mates  dying  before  we  reached  it. 

You  will  wonder  why  I  have  been  so  resigned  on  this 
island. 

I  was  right.  They  began  their  search  almost  as  soon 
as  I  disappeared,  and  shortly  after  I  arrived  at  this  island 
the  Great  Dissembler  located  me  and  appeared  in  his 
astral  body  one  afternoon. 

"My  boy,"  he  said,  and  there  was  no  coldness  in  his 
tones.  ''I  am  glad  to  see  you.  We  have  been  hunting 
for  you  ever  since  you  disappeared."  And  then  he  re- 
lated to  me  in  detail  the  story  of  Theon  after  the  great 
revolution  and  of  the  daily  solicitude  of  Winnie  and 
Costa  for  my  welfare. 

"You  have  won  the  love  of  a  noble  woman,  my  boy, 
and  we  must  get  you  back  to  us." 

Some  time  later  both  Winnie  and  her  father  visited  me, 
and  their  visits  have  been  continued  at  frequent  intervals, 
sometimes  the  Great  Dissembler  coming  with  them,  and 
sometimes  alone.     They  provided  me  with  means  of  living 


76  The  Wreck  of  the  South  Pole. 

and  keeping  warm,  and  with  their  frequent  visits  my  so- 
journ in  this  place  has  not  been  lonely. 

But  when  I  will  find  means  of  joining  them  I  cannot 
say,  although  the  Great  Dissembler  bids  me  hope  that  it 
will  not  be  long  now  until  they  will  have  built  some  kind 
of  a  ship  or  contrived  some  other  means  of  getting  me 
back  to  Theos. 

"And  when  you  are  once  there,  a  day  shall  not  pass 
until  Winnie  is  your  wife." 

And  as  both  Costa  and  his  daughter  have  intimated 
their  full  acquiescence  in  this  proposition,  I  have  no  doubt 
but  that  it  will  be  so. 

Of  course,  these  dear  friends  can  visit  me  in  their  astral 
bodies,  and,  perhaps,  in  time,  might  teach  me  how  to  exer- 
cise the  same  freedom.  But  that  would  not  bring  us 
really  any  nearer  together.  For  theosophists  have  no 
way  of  transporting  the  material  body. 

But,  as  I  said,  the  Great  Dissembler  is  confident  that  he 
will  have  me  with  them  soon,  and  I  have  learned  to  have 
confidence  in  him. 

And  so,  here's  waiting  for  her,  Winnie. 


The  Indestructible  Story. 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


THE  INDESTRUCTIBLE  STORY. 


A  party  of  five,  all  newspaper  men,  were  seated  in  a 
small  restaurant  on  Fifth  avenue,  Chicago,  about  3  o'clock 
one  morning.  It  was  a  dingy  place,  and  the  lunches 
served  were  not  dainty  ones,  yet  it  was  a  favorite  among 
night  men  because  of  its  nearness  to  the  three  great 
dailies,  the  Times,  the  Herald  and  the  News,  while  the 
Tribune  was  only  a  couple  of  blocks  away. 

The  quintet  consisted  of  Chase,  of  the  News,  Brown 
and  Kent,  of  the  Times,  and  Hanklin  and  Brandon,  of  the 
Herald,  and  they  were  seated  at  a  little  round  table  in 
the  rear  of  the  room  finishing  a  plebeian  lunch  of  switzer 
cheese,  bread  and  beer,  before  going  home. 

''Did  you  ever  hear  of  Landstreet's  'indestructible 
story?'  "  Chase  asked,  during  a  lull  in  the  conversation. 

"What  was  it?"  This  from  Kent.  "One  that  long- 
continued  'respectfully  declined'  had  no  effect  upon  ?" 

"No;  not  quite.  And  yet  that  had  something  to  do 
with  it,  for  Landstreet  always  had  half  a  dozen  MSS.  out 
and  never  a  one  accepted.  At  last  he  went  crazy  on  the 
subject;  at  least,  that  is  what  his  friends  thought,  al- 


8o  The  Indestructible  Story. 

though  I  had  an  idea  that  perhaps  the  old  fellow  pos- 
sessed a  vein  of  humor  we  never  suspected." 

''What  did  he  do?" 

"He  conceived  the  idea  that  if  he  couldn't  get  into 
print,  he,  at  least,  would  write  one  story  that  would  live 
forever,  and  the  way  he  went  about  it  showed  unfailing 
symptoms  of  lunacy  or — humor.  I  don't  know  which  it 
was,  and  have  long  ago  given  up  guessing.  Sometimes 
I  think  he  must  have  possessed  a  grim  sense  of  humor, 
and  was  planning  a  stupendous  joke  on  us ;  at  other  times 
I  think  he  must  have  been  stark,  staring  mad." 

"Never  mind  going  into  the  philosophy  of  the  matter; 
what  was  his  scheme,  his  little  joke,  or  his  particular 
form  of  lunacy?" 

"I  thought  I  said  it  was  an  indestructible  story,"  Chase 
answered  testily,  for  the  question  irritated  him.  "That 
is  all.  He  determined  to  give  the  world  one  sketch  which 
should  live  forever,  and,  as  editors  refused,  with  startling 
unanimity,  to  recognize  his  genius,  he  cast  about  for  some 
other  means  of  preserving  his  stuff.  At  length  he  hit 
upon  the  scheme  of  making  a  sheet  of  paper  that  no  force 
could  destroy,  no  fire  burn.  If  he  could  just  secure  that, 
he  would  be  able  to  produce  something  that  would  live  in 
spite  of  his  friends,  the  editors." 

"By  George !  What  an  idea !  Did  he  succeed  ?  If  he 
did  there  was  a  mint  of  money  in  it.  How  did  he  make 
it  go?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  exactly,  but  he  went  about  it  with 
a  good  deal  of  common  sense,  if  common  sense  could  be 


The  Indestructible  Story.  8i 

used  in  such  a  crazy  scheme.  He  first  looked  for  some 
substance  that  could  not  be  destroyed  by  fire,  and  this  he 
found  in  asbestos,  but  it  would  not  do,  as  it  could  be 
pulled  to  pieces  too  easily.  Still,  Landstreet  saw  that  it 
would  make  a  good  foundation  to  work  upon,  and  began 
looking  around  for  some  ingredient  to  mix  with  it.  The 
next  I  heard  of  him  he  had  beeu  consulting  a  chemist, 
and  when  we  met  he  said  he  had  found  what  he  wanted. 
It  was  aluminum.  At  that  time  this  substance  was  worth 
only  about  $io  a  pound,  and  for  a  couple  of  dollars  he 
secured  enough  for  experimenting.  It  is  the  most  in- 
destructible thing  in  the  world,  as  you  all  know.  You  can 
pull  it  and  twist  it,  but  it  will  not  tear  or  break ;  and  it 
requires  great  heat  to  melt  it.  Well,  Landstreet  melted 
it,  mixed  it  with  a  lot  of  asbestos,  and  then  rolled  the 
mass  out  into  a  thin  sheet.  It  was  about  as  nearly  in- 
destructible as  anything  you  could  find.  It  would  roll  and 
bend,  but  the  asbestos  kept  it  from  stretching  and  from 
melting,  except  under  the  hottest  of  fires. 

"One  would  have  thought  that  his  work  was  done  now, 
but  Landstreet  was  not  satisfied.  The  idea  came  to  him, 
perhaps,  that  some  villainous  editor  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury, who  might  come  across  his  indestructible  story, 
could  make  short  work  of  it  with  a  pair  of  office  shears ; 
for,  as  yet,  his  paper  could  be  cut.  Oh,  how  he  hated  an 
editor  and  a  pair  of  shears  and  a  blue  pencil!  I  don't 
know  what  he  did,  what  he  used,  but  he  inti- 
mated that  it  was  largely  a  composition  of  dia- 
mond  dust.    Butj   whatever    he    hit    upon,   it    was    a 


82  The  Indestructible  Story. 

fine,  shining  powder,  and,  after  heating  his  former  com- 
position, he  sprinkled  this  powder  over  it.  The  result 
was  a  thin  sheet  which  would  not  tear,  break  or  melt  to 
such  a  degree  as  to  lose  its  shape.  He  had  secured  the 
material  for  his  'indestructible  story.' " 

"Well,"  said  Hanklin,  after  a  pause,  "what  became  of 
it  ?     Where  is  his  wonderful  sheet  ?     Who  has  it  ?" 

"That's  more  than  I  know,"  Chase  replied.  "Land- 
street  showed  it  to  me,  but  I  never  heard  what  he  wrote 
or  what  he  did  with  it.  In  fact,  I  haven't  seen  him  for 
months." 

"Probably  I  can  finish  your  story."  It  was  Kent  who 
spoke. 

"What!     Do  you  know  of  it,  too?" 

"Yes.  Landstreet  and  I  have  been  friends  for  the  last 
five  years — were  friends,  I  should  say,  for  he  is  dead." 

"Dead?" 

"Dead.  Died  three  months  ago.  I  met  him  when  he 
first  came  to  Chicago,  and  brought  in  his  first  'special' 
article  to  the  Times  to  sell.  He  didn't  sell  it,  and  I  gave 
him  some  pointers.  Whether  they  did  him  any  good  or 
not  I  cannot  say,  but  it  was  the  means  of  getting  us  ac- 
quainted. I  pitied  the  poor  fellow,  he  had  such  bad  luck. 
Some  of  his  work  was  better  than  any  that  ever  appeared 
in  our  paper,  and  yet  he  never  could  sell  it.  Strange  how 
some  men  never  can  succeed!  We've  had  a  hundred 
changes  in  our  force  since  then,  but  Landstreet  could 
never  get  on.  Some  green  fellow  who  could  not  write 
a  decent  article,  and  who  was  certain  to  be  'fired'  within 


The  Indestructible  Story.  83 

three  months  would  be  preferred  to  Landstreet  every 
time. 

*'He  never  told  me  about  his  'indestructible  story,'  as 
you  call  it^  until  just  a  few  nights  before  his  death.  He 
and  his  wife  and  two  little  girls  lived  over  on  the  west 
side  in  a  miserable  little  tenement-house — had  only  two 
rooms,  I  think.  Anyway,  they  were  in  as  hard  luck  as 
one  could  wish  to  see.  I  used  to  stop  occasionally  to  cheer 
him  up  a  little. 

"A  few  nights  before  he  died  I  stopped  on  my  way 
down  to  the  office,  and  he  told  me  of  his  scheme;  but 
from  his  manner  I  could  not  have  understood,  at  first, 
whether  he  was  concocting  some  practical  joke,  thought 
he  could  invent  something  that  would  be  of  value,  or  was 
really  insane.  He  had  succeeded,  to  all  appearances  at 
least,  in  producing  a  sheet  of  paper  that  would  neither 
burn  nor  tear.  We  tested  it  as  well  as  we  could,  that 
night.  He  also  took  up  a  knife  and  attempted  to  cut  it, 
but  that  was  impossible.  He  had  invented  a  perpetual 
indelible  ink,  too,  with  which  to  write  upon  his  paper. 
He  did  not  explain  its  ingredients.  Before  I  left  he  went 
to  a  table  drawer  and  brought  back  a  little  roll,  which 
he  gave  to  me,  saying:  *Don't  open  this  till  you  hear  I 
am  dead.' 

"I  supposed  it  was  some  directions  with  regard  to  the 
poor  fellow's  wife  and  children^  and  so  took  it  without 
much  surprise.  I  knew  he  could  not  live  long.  After  his 
death,  I  opened  it.     Here  it  is." 

Kent  pulled  a  small  roll  from  his  pocket  and  passed 


84  The  Indestructible  Story. 

it  over  to  Chase.  It  consisted  of  a  number  of  lead- 
colored  sheets  of  paper,  which  had  the  appearance  of 
having  been  oiled.     Upon  it  was  written : 

STRANGE  STORY  OF  A  COIN. 

When  this  MS.  is  read  its  writer  will  be  beyond  the 
stars,  in  paradise,  purgatory,  or  hell.  Judging  from  my 
luck  in  this  world,  I  consider  my  prospects  brighter  for 
the  last-named  place. 

What  I  am  about  to  relate  is  no  carefully  studied  tale. 
Three  months  ago  it  was  entirely  unknown  to  me.  As 
some  of  my  friends — Kent,  for  instance,  who  is  a  great 
babbler — will  no  doubt  publish  it  to  the  world,  I  have 
been  working  for  months  upon  an  indestructible  sheet  of 
paper,  upon  which  I  proposed  writing  an  indestructible 
story — one  which  would  live  forever  in  spite  of  various 
editors  of  Chicago.  I  even  had  a  dainty  prose  poem 
blocked  out  for  it,  when  there  came  a  revelation  which 
turned  the  current  of  my  thoughts  in  another  direction 
and  decided  me  to  give  this  story  to  the  world  instead  of 
one  of  more  literary  value,  which  I  could  have  written 
myself. 

I  have  always  had  bad  luck  from  the  time  when  a 
teething  babe  I  got  a  canker  in  the  mouth  by  biting  on 
an  old  coin,  down  through  the  days  when  I  was  thrashed 
regularly  by  my  school  teacher  for  other  boys'  misde- 
meanors, down  to  the  present  time  when,  kicked  by  edi- 
tors and  spurned  by  "devils,"  I  am  about  to  bury  myself 
in  a  country  newspaper  office  in  Southern  Illinois. 


The  Indestructible  Story,  85 

Three  months  ago,  lacking  seven  days,  I  learned  the 
cause  of  all  my  ill-luck.  You  will  laugh  when  you  read 
what  it  was,  but  before  you  finish  this  story  your  laugh 
will  change  to  astonishment. 

Mention  was  just  made  of  an  old  coin  upon  which  I 
cut  my  first  set  of  teeth,  and  got  a  canker  in  the  mouth 
at  the  same  time.  That  coin  was  the  cause  of  all  my 
misfortune.  I  have  had  it  in  my  possession — much  of 
the  time  in  my  pocket — for  thirty-five  years ;  but  not  until 
a  few  weeks  ago  did  I  learn  its  history,  or  the  evil  influ- 
ence it  has  carried  with  it  for  centuries.  I  looked  upon 
it  only  as  an  interesting  relic  of  my  distinguished  baby- 
hood, and — perhaps,  one  of  value  to  be  "put  up"  on  a 
rainy  day.  Many  rainy  days  have  come,  but  I  have  never 
parted  with  it.  I  wish  I  had ;  wish  I  had  pawned  it  long 
ago,  and  lost  the  ticket.  Or,  rather,  I  wish  I  had  made 
a  present  of  it  to  one  of  those  conceited  editors. 

The  reader  may  trust  the  following  as  historically  cor- 
rect. It  is  history,  all  of  it,  and  each  statement  can  be 
substantiated  by  reference  to  well-known  writers,  of  un- 
impeachable veracity.  But  in  telling  my  story  I  shall  re- 
serve the  right  to  tell  it  my  own  way ;  and  the  first  part  ot 
the  history  of  this  miserable  piece  of  silver  will  be  omit- 
ted until  I  am  ready  to  give  it. 

Last  fall  my  eldest  brother,  who  still  lives  at  the  old 
homestead,  sent  me  a  bundle  of  manuscript,  accompanied 
by  the  following  letter : 

Rocky  Fork,  Sept.  3,  1889. — Dear  Brother:     I  found 


S6  The  Indestructible  Story. 

this  bundle  of  papers  stowed  away  in  the  attic,  tied  up  in 
an  oil  cloth  and  sealed  in  a  tin  box.  When  I  brought  it 
down,  father,  although  he  is  very  forgetful,  remembered 
it.  He  said  it  was  left  here  nearly  thirty-five  years  ago 
by  a  young  man  who  stopped  over  night  with  us.  He 
was  a  melancholy-looking  fellow,  and  gave  you  a  queer 
bit  of  silver  to  cut  your  teeth  on.  We  kept  the  box  for 
some  time,  thinking  he  would  return.  He  never  did, 
and  it  was  laid  away  for  safety.  By  and  by  it  got  hidden 
away  in  the  attic,  and  has  just  come  to  light.  I  glanced 
over  the  papers,  and  finding  them  rather  curious,  will 
send  them  to  you.  They  may  make  the  foundation  of  a 
story  for  you.    Your  brother, 

John  Landstree:t. 

A  foundation  for  a  story!  It  proved  the  plot  of  a 
tragedy ! 

The  papers  were  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  and  in  various 
handwritings.  Some  were  of  comparatively  recent  date, 
but  others  had  been  written  centuries  ago,  and  in  a  phrase- 
ology hard  to  decipher.  I  could  make  this  story  very 
effective — "artistic,"  perhaps,  were  I  to  copy  these  records 
verbatim.  But  I  have  lost  my  desire  to  make  a  sensation. 
All  I  care  for  is  to  give  the  strange  history  to  the  world. 
Besides,  the  documents  are  lengthy,  and  my  sheets  of  in- 
destructible paper  are  numbered.  I  will  merely  give  the 
young  man's  own  manuscript  and  then  weave  the  others 
into  a  connected  story.  The  last  owner  of  the  accursed 
piece  of  silver  wrote : 

"I  shall  go  mad  if  I  do  not  get  rid  of  this  infamous 
Thing.     It  has  brought  ruin,  desolation,  disgrace  upon 


The  Indestructible  Story.  87 

me,  and  now  I  feel  that  my  mind  is  giving  way.  I  shall 
add  my  testimony  to  the  ones  already  in  the  box,  and  then 
at  the  first  opportunity  leave  both  coin  and  records  in 
some  one's  possession.  Who  am  I  that  I  alone  should 
bear  the  burden?  Whoever  opens  the  box  may  rest  as- 
sured of  the  truthfulness  of  every  word  contained  in  it. 
The  damnable  piece  of  silver  *  *  *  has  been  traced 
down  from  the  day  when  *  *  *  until  it  came  into  my 
hands.  How  this  record  was  kept  the  inclosed  papers 
will  explain.  In  some  cases  they  were  made  by  the  men 
and  women  who  suffered;  in  others,  by  learned  men, 
whose  attention  had  been  attracted  to  the  fatal  coin,  and 
who  took  pains  to  search  it  out.  Early  in  its  existence  it 
became  a  matter  of  history.  Earlier  still — aye,  the  very 
day  it  became  infamous,  it  was  marked,  indelibly  marked, 
in  such  a  manner  that  none  can  mistake  it." 

Then  followed  explanations  which  were  necessary  to 
prove  the  authenticity  of  the  manuscript,  but  which  I  will 
not  give  now%  The  records  will  be  preserved  carefully 
for  any  who  may  care  to  examine  them. 

And  now,  as  I  said,  I  propose  to  tell  my  story  in  my 
own  way,  and  I  will  begin  with  this  ill-gotten  piece  of 
silver  at  a  time  when  its  evil  story  had  become  well 
known  in  the  world,  reserving  to  the  last  my  description 
of  it,  and  my  account  of  how  and  why  it  is  possessed  of 
such  a  curse. 

The  first  scene  opens  in  Rome — Christian  Rome — in 
the  days  of  Julian,  the  Apostate.  But  he  was  not  always 
"the  apostate."  In  early  life  he  was  a  follower  of  the 
humble  Nazarine,  and  not  until  his  cousin  Constantius 
died  did  he  forsake  the   faith.     Why  did  he  take  tlie 


8S  The  Indestructible  Story. 

course  that  branded  him  with  infamy?  The  secret 
archives  of  Rome  mention  that  in  his  possession  was  a 
curious  coin  with  certain  pecuhar  marks  upon  it.  Those 
marks  are  upon  the  coin  in  my  possession,  and  the  curse 
fell  upon  him  even  more  heavily  than  it  did  upon  me. 
Within  a  year  after  Julian,  the  Christian,  found  that  an- 
cient piece  in  the  catacombs  of  Rome  he  had  become 
Julian,  the  Apostate. 

From  the  time  of  Julian  the  records  give  a  long  list  of 
names — some  well  known,  others  mere  names ;  some  Ro- 
man and  Italian,  others  German,  Spanish  and  French ; 
showing  that  the  coin  had  traveled  much.  In  iioo  it 
found  its  way  to  England,  and  for  years  it  remained  in  an 
abbey,  until  at  last  it  came  into  the  possession  of  Thomas 
a'  Becket.  History  tells  how  the  good  man  met  his  false 
charges,  his  imprisonment  and  death.  Again  the  coin 
sinks  into  obscurity,  to  rise  into  greater  disaster,  after  a 
silence  of  fifty  years.  In  1871  the  records  say  it  was  given 
to  Henry  II.  of  England,  and  remained  in  his  cabinet  dur- 
ing those  eighteen  bitter  years  of  his  life — years  marked 
by  revolt  after  revolt  of  his  own  sons,  until  at  last  the  re- 
bellion of  his  youngest  broke  the  father's  heart.  Again  it 
is  traced  back  to  Italy ;  not  only  to  Italy,  but  to  Rome ;  not 
only  to  Rome,  but  to  the  Vatican  itself.  By  some  means 
it  found  its  way  to  the  library  of  Pope  Boniface  VIII.  Is 
it  needless  to  recount  how  he  was  imprisoned,  insulted  and 
killed  by  Philip  the  Fair,  of  France?  And  note  how  the 
curse  rested  upon  his  successors  as  long  as  it  remained  in 
their  possession.     Benedict  IX.  lived  but  a  few  months. 


The  Indestructible  Story.  89 

Clement  V.  was  obliged  to  remove  to  Avignon,  and  for 
seventy  years  the  successors  of  St.  Peter  were  exiles. 

Back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  from  Rome  to  Eng- 
land, and  from  England  to  France,  this  piece  of  silver, 
with  its  flowering  rod  upon  one  side,  and  its  pot  of  man- 
na on  the  other,  traveled.  Driving  a  Christian  ruler  into 
apostasy;  driving  the  popes  from  Rome  to  Avignon; 
bringing  the  saintly  Becket  to  his  death!  Wherever  it 
went  its  blighting  effects  were  visible.  And  as  the  fa- 
mous Archbishop  of  Canterbury  could  not  escape  its  dark 
influence,  neither  could  the  great  cardinal.  All  uncon- 
scious of  its  dreadful  history,  Wolsey  also  received  it ;  re- 
ceived it  from  the  hands  of  an  enemy,  w^ho  knew  its  evil 
power;  received  it  while  on  the  crest  of  popularity's 
wave.  How  quickly  he  sank,  as  a  ball  of  fire  glowing  in 
the  sky  falls,  and  is  extinguished  in  the  depths  of  the  sea. 

Was  it  fate  or  merely  God's  hand  molding  the  affairs 
of  men,  that  the  great  cardinal's  successor,  Sir  Thomas 
More,  should  meet  with  such  reverses.  He,  too,  held 
the  accursed  piece  in  his  possession  for  one  year — a  year 
of  imprisonment  and  trial  ended  with  death. 

Most  tragic  of  all  was  the  fate  of  Jacques  Molay,  the 
last  grand  master  of  the  Templars.  To  him  also  the  fatal 
coin  descended  and  in  its  wake  came  ruin  and  banish- 
ment, torture  and  death  for  the  greatest  body  of  warriors 
which  ever  fought  for  Christendom.  At  last  the  ill- 
fated  grand  master,  after  seeing  his  army  disbanded,  was 
bound  to  the  stake,  and  from  the  flames  summoned  his 
two  enemies,  the  pope  of  Rome  and  the  king  of  France, 


90  The  Indestructible  Story. 

to  meet  him  at  the  bar  of  God  within  a  year.  Before  a 
twelve-month  both  were  dead. 

The  reader  would  weary  were  I  to  enumerate  each  one 
who  suffered.  Let  me  but  mention  lovely  Mary,  queen 
of  the  Scots.  Lady  Jane  Grey,  Charles  Edward,  the  "Pre- 
tender," Charles  L,  Joan  of  Arc.  Each  was  in  turn  the 
possessor  of  this  piece  of  silver,  and  each  in  turn  suf- 
fered. 

It  is  also  said  that  Henry  VIIL  possessed  the  evil  talis- 
man, which  accounted  for  his  many  wives,  but  there  is 
little  data  for  the  belief. 

The  scene  changes  again — this  time  across  the  seas  to 
the  American  shoreSo  The  war  of  the  revolution  was  be- 
ing fought  and  the  evil  talisman  came  across  the  ocean  in 
a  British  man-of-war.  It  was  in  the  possession  of  an 
English  officer,  the  unfortunate  Major  Andre.  He,  too. 
met  his  fate.  But  before  he  died  he  was  allowed  to  send 
a  package  to  his  family,  and  among  other  valuables  it  con- 
tained the  fatal  pocket  piece.  See  how  justice  is  some- 
times meted  out.  Arnold  had  seen  this  strange  piece  of 
money  in  Andre's  possession  during  one  of  their  brief  in- 
terviews. The  piece  was  stolen  from  Andre's  widow, 
and  found  its  way  to  a  London  pawnshop.  One  day  the 
man  without  friends  or  home — the  traitor,  Arnold — en- 
tered the  shop  and  recognized  it.  With  some  feeling  of 
remorse,  and  we  know  of  not  what  other  sentiments  he 
purchased  it.  Cursed  as  his  life  had  been,  doubly  cursed 
was  it  afterward. 

One  scene  more.  No  one  has  ever  really  known  the 
secret  of  Napoleon's  fall.     Remembering  his  triumphant 


The  Indestructible  Story.  91 

march  through  France,  gathering  a  regiment  in  every  vil- 
lage as  he  returned  from  a  previous  captivity,  it  is  hard 
to  understand  why,  after  Waterloo,  he  gave  up  so  entire- 
ly. Once  before  he  had  not  only  been  conquered,  but 
had  been  a  prisoner,  yet  he  broke  his  prison  chains  and 
ascended  even  higher  heights  of  glory.  Why  did  he  fail 
at  Waterloo?  You  have  all  read  of  the  "red  man" — the 
devil,  some  called  him ;  others,  the  shadow — who  visited 
Napoleon  before  each  battle  and  dictated  what  he  should 
do.  On  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo  he  came  as 
usual,  and  Napoleon  bade  him  begone.  The  "red  man" 
replied :  "I  will  give  you  the  whole  world  but  St.  Hel- 
ena. Thither  I  will  retire.  See  that  you  follow  me  not. 
Take  this  talisman  as  a  parting  gift.  It  has  shown  pow- 
er before;  it  will  show  power  with  you.  Keep  it  near 
you."  It  was  the  accursed  piece.  Napoleon  took  the 
coin,  Waterloo  was  lost,  and  Napoleon  never  lifted  his 
head  again. 

And  now  we  have  reached  the  last  generation,  when 
the  coin  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  young  man,  who  fled 
from  its  baneful  influence  and  left  it  with  me.  Some 
time,  if  I  live,  I  may  write  his  life,  but  there  is  not  time 
now.     The  question  remains  to  be  answered. 

What  was  this  coin,  and  why  did  it  carry  with  it  such 
a  curse  that  centuries  have  been  marked  with  it? 

The  piece  was  an  uneven  circle ;  on  one  side  was  a  pot 
of  manna,  and  on  the  reverse  a  flowering  almond. 
Aronud  the  edge  were  Hebrew  characters  meaning  "Holi- 
ness unto  the  Lord."  It  was  an  ancient  Jewish  shekel, 
coined  by  the  Maccabees. 


92  The  Indestructible  Story. 

It  is  needless  to  write  further.  Every  antiquarian, 
every  numismatist,  every  student  of  history  knows  what 
that  coin  was.  It  was  one  of  the  thirty  pieces  for  which 
Judas  Iscariot  betrayed  his  God. 

He  went  out  and  slew  himself.  The  high  priest  would 
not  allow  ''the  price  of  blood"  to  return  to  the  treasury, 
and  marking-  each  piece  with  a  cross,  purchased  with 
them  a  potter's  field.  They  paid  the  money  to  one  Jab- 
nael.  Legend  has  it  that  before  twelve  months  had  passed 
he  died  a  horrible  death.  To  Simon  Magus  some  of  the 
money  passed,  and  holy  writ  gives  a  succinct  account  of 
his  tragic  end.  And  so  on,  down  to  Julian,  each  man 
who  held  one  of  the  fatal  pieces  was  doomed.  In  time 
they  becamie  scattered,  and  it  was  impossible  to  trace 
them;  but  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  each  one  of  those 
blood-stained  thirty  is  still  in  the  world,  bearing  with  it 
the  curse  of  God.  I  have  traced  but  the  one.  Where  are 
the  twenty-nine  ? 


The   Baby  Ghost. 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


THE  BABY  GHOST 


Ever  since  there  has  been  a  ghost  in  the  world,  children 
have  been  interested  in  them,  but  the  only  chance  the  lit- 
tle things  ever  have  of  hearing  about  them  is  at  night, 
when  some  kind-hearted  servant  girl  takes  pity  on  them 
during  the  absence  of  the  old  folk.  Parents  have 
frowned  upon  their  children  hearing  about  ghosts  and 
this  may  be  in  part  because  no  properly  written  ghost 
stories  have  ever  been  published  for  use  in  the  nursery. 
This  is  a  great  oversight  on  the  part  of  literary  caterers 
to  the  children's  page  of  the  newspapers. 

The  following  ghost  story  has  been  compiled  for  the 
purpose  of  filling  this  long  felt  want  and  providing  the 
nursery  with  a  genuine,  simon  pure  ghost  story,  to  which 
ho  parent  can  object. 

There  was  once  a  family  that  had  a  ghost,  more  cor- 
rectly speaking,  the  house  they  lived  in  had  one,  for  the 
family  were  renters  and  the  ghost  was  entailed  with  the 
house. 

The  ghost  gave  the  various  tenants  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  and  in  consequence  none  of  them  had  ever  staid 
very  long  in  it.  People  who  rent  like  all  the  modern  con- 
veniences and  luxuries  thrown  in,  but  they  do  not  like 


96  The  Baby  Ghost. 

ghosts.  They  are  airy  and  keep  such  late  hours.  Still, 
every  one  who  saw  this  particular  spirit  had  a  sort  of  a 
kindly  feeling  for  it,  because  it  was  a  baby  ghost.  Peo- 
ple would  rent  the  house,  stay  a  night  or  two,  and  see  a 
baby  in  airy  night  clothes  creeping  about  and  moaning 
dismally.  Then  they  would  leave.  They  never  got 
angry  at  the  ghost,  but  they  did  at  the  landlord  (who  was 
an  Irishman),  for  not  telling  them  that  the  place  was 
rented  already.  As  to  the  spectral  baby,  they  only  felt 
sorry  for  it. 

Still,  they  would  not  stay  in  the  house. 

The  family  under  whose  reign  the  ghost  left  the  house 
was  named  Otto — a  good  old  German  name  such  as  I  love 
to  hear.  They  had  been  in  the  house  a  week  before  they 
saw  the  ghost,  for  it  had  been  ill  with  colic  and  had  to 
stay  in  bed. 

But  when  it  did  appear,  it  created  a  sensation. 

Mrs.  Otto  was  for  leaving  at  once.  She  said  that  she 
was  not  a  proud  woman,  but  that  she  was  exclusive.  She 
did  not  mind  treating  even  a  beggar  politely,  but  when 
it  came  to  receiving  people  in  her  bed  chamber  she  was 
compelled  to  be  exclusive  and  she  drew  the  line  on 
ghosts.  Besides,  she  added,  she  did  not  need  a  baby 
ghost,  for  she  had  several  young  infants  already. 

This  caused  a  parley.  The  cook  wept  when  she  heard 
of  the  manifestation,  and  said  that  the  poor  thing  ought 
to  be  treated  kindly,  for  no  doubt  it  had  died  unbaptized 
and  so  was  compelled  "to  walk."     ' 

But  then  the  ghost  did  not  pass  its  nights  in  her  bed- 
room. 


The  Baby  Ghost.  97 

But  to  the  parley,  which  occurred  at  night,  as  all  intel- 
ligent persons  well  know,  for  a  ghost  never  appears  in 
the  day  time.  People  could  see  through  it  too  plainly 
then. 

Well,  the  Otto  family  were  all  in  bed,  father  and 
mother  Otto  side  by  side,  and  the  three  little  Ottos  ranged 
in  a  row  in  the  trundle  bed  at  the  foot.  All  were  asleep, 
and  at  12  o'clock  the  clock  struck  and  all  awoke. 

Mamma  Otto  turned  over  and  asked  what  the  children 
wanted,  and  father  Otto  turned  over  and  asked  why  the 
little  brats  could  not  keep  still.  Mamma  Otto  then  be- 
gan a  curtain  lecture,  but  it  was  broken  off  suddenly  and 
she  cried : 

"Oh,  James,  what  is  that?" 

"By  my  soul,"  said  James,  "it  is  the  baby  ghost." 

"Oh,  mamma,"  screamed  the  three  little  Ottos,  "see  that 
baby  all  in  white  like  me!  But,  oh! — I  can  see  right 
through  it,  and  it  hasn't  any  insides.     Who  is  it  ?" 

Papa  Otto  looked  out  and  saw  the  baby  creeping 
around  upon  the  floor  and  making  a  moaning  noise.  He 
was  tenderhearted  toward  babies,  but  he  did  not  feel  par- 
ticularly friendly  toward  their  ghosts.  So  his  speech 
proved  a  mixture  of  tenderness  and  roughness. 

"Look  here,"  he  began  quite  fiercely — then  "Chick-a- 
biddie,  what  do  you  want?" 

At  the  first  word  the  spectre  did  not  pay  any  attention 
to  him,  but  at  the  magic  baby  words,  "Chick-a-biddie,"  it 
looked  up. 

"Dear  'ittle  baby,"  said  Mrs.  Otto,  trying  to  pacify  it, 
"'ot  doo'oo'ont?" 


98  The  Baby  Ghost. 

"Shut  up,  you  fool,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Otto.  ''Can't  you 
talk  sense  even  in  the  face  of  a  spectre?     Let  me  talk." 

"I  say,"  he  said  to  the  white  gown,  which  was  now  try- 
ing to  climb  into  bed  with  his  children,  "what  do  you 
want?" 

"I  'ont  a  dwink." 

"Good  Lord!  Have  they  nothing  to  drink  where  you 
live?" 

"I  'ont  to  go  to  bed,"  continued  the  infant,  not  mind- 
ing what  he  said. 

"Well,  go  to  bed  then,"  said  Mr.  Otto.  "Who  is  keep- 
ing you  from  it ?  Haven't  you  beds  in  your  ghost  world? 
Who  are  you,  anyhow  ?" 

"I'm  a  baby  ghost." 

"So  I  know  you  are.  But  what  do  you  want  to  be 
one  for?  Out  here  in  America  we  don't  have  ghosts  un- 
less there  is  some  reason  for  them.  But  you  are  so 
young,  you  never  did  anything  wrong.  What  reason 
have  you  for  prowling  around  in  this  way  ?" 

"I'm  a  baby  ghost." 

"A  baby  ghost!"  repeated  Mr.  Otto,  becoming  excited. 
"What  excuse  is  there  m  that?  If  you're  a  ghost,  you're 
a  ghost,  and  it  don't  make  any  difference  what  kind.  One 
is  as  much  a  spirit  as  another,  even  if  it  isn't  quite  so  big. 
You  don't  have  to  come  here  unless  you  want  to." 

"But  where  else  can  I  go?" 

"Where  else  can  you  go?  Why,  go  home.  Haven't 
you  any  friends  or  relatives  in  the  other  w^orld  to  take 
care  of  you?" 


The  Baby  Ghost.  99 

"My  father  was  murdered  in  India  and  has  'to  walk' 
there ;  my  mother  was  murdered  in  England,  and  has  'to 
walk'  there;  and  I  am  left  an  orphan  ghost  in  America. 
Please  tell  me  where  I  am  to  walk  and  I  will  go  there." 

"Seems  to  me  you  talk  pretty  well  for  a  baby.  How 
comes  it  that  ycu  can  talk  so  plain  when  you  want  to?" 

"Ghost  babies  know  more  than  other  babies." 

"So  I  should  think,  and  I  believe  you  are  shamming." 

Well,  the  end  of  the  parley  was  that  the  Ottos  felt 
downright  sorry  for  the  ghost,  and  would  have  done  any- 
thing for  it  but  let  it  live  with  them. 

"Why,"  said  Mrs.  Otto,  "the  next  thing  it  would  be 
coming  to  me  for  its  dinner." 

As  a  compromise  they  at  last  agreed  to  let  it  crawl 
around  on  the  floor  if  it  would  not  bother  the  children, 
but  the  ghost  said  it  liked  babies  above  everything  else, 
and  would  not  live  without  them. 

"Then  why  don't  you  die?"  said  Mr.  Otto. 

"Because  I  can't." 

"Then  if  you  can't  die,  I  guess  you  can  live  without 
babies." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  can ;  but  I  won't." 

That  ended  the  parley,  and  the  Ottos  decided  to  move, 
not  because  they  disliked  the  ghost,  but  because  the  chil- 
dren did  not  like  it  for  a  bed-fellow.  Besides,  it  had  such 
a  dismal  way  of  moaning. 

When  the  landlord,  Mr.  Mulligan,  heard  that  his  new 
tenants  were  about  to  leave,  he  said : 

"Oi  wish  the  divil  would  take  the  cursed  ghost  an'  be 


lOO  The  Baby  Ghost, 

done  wid  it.  It's  no  good.  It  damages  me  property. 
It's  bad.     To  h— 1  wid  it,  Oi  say !" 

The  ghost  heard  him  and  went  to  his  house  to  Hve. 

About  I  o'clock  that  night  he  called  to  it  and  asked 
what  it  meant  by  coming  over  and  bothering  a  decent 
man  in  that  manner. 

''Because  you  cursed  me,"  said  the  baby  ghost  naively, 
and  then  fell  to  moaning  and  creeping  about  the  floor 
again. 

"Sure  an'  Oi  did,"  said  Mr.  Mulligan.  "But  Oi'll  fix 
ye  to-morrow." 

There  was  no  more  sleep  in  that  house  the  rest  of  the 
night,  but  Mr.  Mulligan  did  not  pass  his  time  parleying. 
A  wise  man  was  Mr.  Mulligan,  and  he  had  his  plan. 

Early  in  the  morning  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  over 
to  Mr.  Otto's. 

"Good-mornin'  to  yees,"  he  said,  quite  politely.  "Oi 
came  to  speak  to  yees  about  yer  ghost.  An'  how  did 
yees  rest  last  noight?" 

"Very  well,  indeed.  Her  babyship  did  not  put  in  an 
appearance  at  all." 

"No  wonder,  and  Oi'll  tell  ye  why  and  perhaps  give  ye 
a  pointer  that'll  rid  ye  of  it  altogether.  Ye  know  ghosts 
can  be  exorcised.  Oi  knew  one  to  be  laid  by  Father 
O'Neill,  over  in  owld  Ireland  wonst.  They  can't  stand  a 
cursin'.  Yesterday  Oi  got  a  bit  angry  and  as  landlord  of 
th'  house  gave  this  bit  o'  a  spectre  a  downright  cursin' 
an'  see,  it  did  not  appear  to  yees  at  all  last  noight.  Oi 
thought  likely  an'  so  came  over  to  see  about  it.       Now, 


The  Baby  Ghost.  loi 

phat  Oi  would  riccommind  would  be  this — that  yees  do 
the  same  and  curses  all  the  curses  ye  can  think  of  on  th' 
poor  thing's  head." 

That  night  Mr.  Mulligan  went  to  bed  chuckling  to 
himself  over  his  scheme,  and  fell  asleep  with  the  con- 
science of  a  man  who  will  see  no  ghosts.  But  not  long 
did  he  sleep  before  he  was  awakened  by  a  low  cry. 

''The  divil  take  the  brat.  Phat  does  it  want  now? 
Pat,  shut  your  noise." 

But  Pat  did  not  shut  his  noise,  and  Mr.  Mulligan 
rolled  out  of  bed  in  a  passion.  There  at  his  feet  was  the 
baby  ghost  crawling  about  and  moaning  in  a  most  heart- 
rending manner. 

'*0i  beg  your  pardon,"  Mr.  Mulligan  said ;  ''Oi  didn't 
know  it  was  you.  Oi  thought  it  was  that  boy  Pat  and 
got  up  to  give  him  a  batin'.  Phat  can  Oi  do  for  me 
little  leddy?" 

But  the  "little  leddy"  made  no  reply. 

The  next  morning  the  first  thing  Mr.  Mulligan  did  was 
to  hurry  over  to  Mr.  Otto's  a  second  time  to  inquire  why 
he  had  not  exorcised  the  ghost.  When  he  learned  that 
Mr.  Otto  had  done  his  best  at  heaping  curses  upon  the 
poor  baby's  head  he  was  completely  non-plussed. 

"Phat  was  the  matter  with  the  scheme?"  he  said  to 
himself.  "It  was  a  good  one,  Oi  know.  Something 
must  hev  gone  wrong." 

That  night  was  a  repetition  of  the  two  previous  ones, 
with  the  exception  that  Mr.  Mulligan,  knowing  what  he 


I02  The  Baby  Ghost. 

might  expect,  decided  to  sit  up  and  await  the  arrival 
of  the  new  addition  to  his  family.  Promptly  on  time  the 
''little  leddy"  appeared. 

"An'  phat  can  Oi  do  for  your  leddyship  this  avenin'/' 
said  he  very  politely,  hoping  to  get  on  the  good  side  of  the 
ghost. 

"I  'on't  to  go  out." 

"Go  out,  is  it?"  said  Mr.  Mulligan,  with  alacrity. 
"Sure,  then,  ye  can,  me  darlin',  and  welcome,"  and  he 
opened  wide  the  door.  But  the  baby  never  moved  an 
inch. 

"It's  cold  out  there,"  it  moaned  and  started  to  creep 
under  the  bed  clothes  with  the  children. 

"Howly  Vargin  presarve  us,"  cried  Mr.  Mulligan.  "It's 
going  to  scare  the  poor  children  to  death.  Get  out  of 
there,  ye  spalpeen.  What  are  yees  doing  here  anyhow? 
Why  aren't  ye  over  hantin'  Mr.  Otto.  Indade  he  towld 
me  this  mornin'  that  he  cursed  ye  royally." 

"So  he  did,"  replied  the  baby  ghost,  as  it  crept  from  the 
trundle  bed  and  lay  down  by  the  fire. 

"Warmin's  its  shins,  by  the  howly  Moses !"  ejaculated 
Mr.  Mulligan,  "though  how  it  can  do  that  same  Oi  can't 
see."     Then  to  the  baby : 

"But  how  comes  it  that  ye  are  here  and  not  over  there 
if  Mr.  Otto  cursed  ye?" 

"You  put  him  up  to  it." 

"Oh,  murder !  Then  Oi'm  to  have  ye  here  in  the  house 
wid  me  until  Oi  die  !" 

"And  maybe  afterward." 


The  Baby  Ghost.  103 

"But  suppose  Oi  move  away?" 

*']  will  go  with  you." 

"St.  Patrick  an'  all  the  sants,  hear  that,  will  ye!  An* 
can  Oi  do  nothing  to  get  ye  to  lave?" 

"No,  I'm  a  baby  ghost.  My  father  was  murdered  in 
India  and  has  *to  walk'  there ;  my  mother  was  murdered 
in  England  and  has  'to  walk'  there,  and  I  am  left  an 
orphan  ghost  in  America  with  no  one  to  take  care  of  me," 
and  the  baby  ghost  began  to  cry. 

"Whist!  whist!  Don't  cry,"  said  the  kind-hearted 
man.  "Don't  cry,  an'  we  will  try  to  fix  up  something  for 
ye.     Can't  ye  sleep?" 

"Ess,"  replied  the  ghost,  calmed  by  his  words  and 
dropping  back  into  baby  language.  "Ess,  in  the  day- 
time." 

"Well,  suppose  we  fit  up  a  noice  little  room  wid  a  bed 
in  it,  couldn't  ye  git  along  doorin'  th'  noight  alone?" 

"No,  no.  I  want  to  be  with  the  babies.  I'm  a  baby 
myself." 

Well,  they  kept  it  up  all  night  without  coming  to  an 
agreement,  Mr.  Mulligan  making  offers  and  the  baby 
ghost  finding  excuses,  so  that  by  morning  the  former  was 
too  tired  to  work  and  too  nervous  to  sleep.  As  a  final 
resort  he  called  upon  Mr.  Otto.  His  manner  was  not 
quite  so  hilarious  as  usual,  but  he  did  not  forget  his  cus- 
tomary politeness. 

"An'  how  did  ye  rest,  Mr.  Otto?"  he  asked. 

"Very  well,  indeed,  Mr.  Mulligan,  and  I  must  thank 


I04  The  Baby  Ghost. 

you  for  it.  Your  advice  was  good.  The  ghost  hasn't 
been  in  the  house  for  two  days." 

'Indade,  an'  Oi'm  dehghted  to  hear  it.  But  O'im 
sorry,  too." 

"Why  so?"  asked  Mr.  Otto  in  surprise. 

"Because  that  same  ghost  has  come  to  live  wid  me.  It 
doesn't  cost  much  for  board,  but  Oi  wouldn't  room  it  for 
a  fortune,  not  if  Oi  had  a  palace  an'  rooms  to  throw 
away.     Indeed  an'  Oi  don't  know  phat  to  do." 

"With  you,  is  it?  Well,  well.  What  made  it  go  to 
you  ?" 

"Oi  can't  say,  but  Oi'm  thinking  it  has  a  likin'  for  me 
youngest  gurl,  Maggie,  (ah,  she's  a  swate  crature).  But 
Oi  can't  stand  it!  And  the  thing  has  promised  to  sthay 
wid  me  all  me  life  and  go  into  th'  spirit  world  wid  me." 

"You  won't  mind  it  so  much,  then." 

"Thrue  for  you,  Mr.  Otto.  But  how'm  Oi  to  git  along 
in  th'  meantime?" 

"I  tell  you  what,  I  will  go  over  to  your  house  to-night, 
and  we  will  try  to  induce  the  thing  to  go  over  to  England 
to  its  mother." 

"Oi  always  sed  yer  honor  had  a  clear  head.  Oi'll  be 
expectin's  ye." 

That  night,  according  to  promise,  Mr.  Otto  passed  at 
the  Mulligan  residence,  and  prompt  on  time  the  spectre 
appeared. 

After  a  very  polite  salutation  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Mulli- 
gan, Mr.  Otto  asked  the  ghost  if  it  did  not  think  it  would 


Tlie  Baby  Ghost.  105 

like  to  see  its  mother,  and  if  so,  how  it  would  like  a  trip 
across  the  water  to  England. 

The  ghost  said  that  was  just  what  it  would  like  to  do. 

''Then  ye  shall  start  to-morrow,"  cried  Mr.  Mulligan 
impetuously. 

"Who  will  go  with  me?" 

''Who  will  go  wid  you?"  said  the  astonished  man. 
"Why,  you  Will  go  alone,  of  course." 

"I'm  afraid  to  go  alone." 

And  there  they  had  to  leave  it. 

And  did  Mr.  Mulligan  have  to  be  haunted  all  the  rest 
of  his  life  by  the  baby  ghost  ? 

Oh,  no ;  he  got  rid  of  it. 

How? 

He  engaged  steerage  passage  and  took  it  over  to  Eng- 
land himself. 


why  He  Took  Him  Along, 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN, 


WHY  HE  TOOK  HIM  ALONG. 


Thursday,  June  i,  i8- 


I  never  did  fancy  the  idea  of  staying  in  the  city  until 
driven  out  by  heat.  I  am  going  to  Lake  Superior  next 
week.  For  June  is  the  most  deHghtful  month  in  the  year 
to  spend  in  the  country,  so  why  wait  until  August,  and 
exchange  a  month  of  pleasure  for  mere  comfort  ?  I  pre- 
fer being  sensible  to  being  fashionable,  and  so  go  north 
by  Tuesday. 

Roy  goes  with  me.  It  seems  strange  I  should  pick  up 
a  boy  I  have  not  known  three  months,  and  take  him  off 
as  my  companion  for  the  summer.  But  then,  if  we  are 
satisfied,  I  do  not  know  as  it  concerns  any  one  else;  he 
was  delighted  with  the  idea,  and  his  father  gave  consent 
— so  we  go.  Roy  is  a  little  black  eyed,  black  haired  school 
boy  I  met  here  in  Schenectady  soon  after,  in  my  Bohe- 
mian wandering,  I  settled  down  in  the  place.  A  new 
fancy  has  taken  me  away  now,  and  it  takes  Roy  with  me. 

Thursday,  June  8. 
To-day  we  reached  our  camping  ground,  Roy  and  I. 
We  left  the  train  at  the  lazy  little  village  of  Chickar,  and 
there  chartered  an  old  horse  and  spring  wagon  to  bring 


no  WHy  He  Took  Him  Along, 

us  and  our  traps  doAvn  to  the  lake.  Our  camp  is  in  a 
beautiful  place.  The  cool  pine  forest  extends  to  the 
shore,  which  at  the  particular  spot  we  have  chosen  to 
pitch  our  tent  upon,  slopes  gently  down  to  the  water. 
Half  a  mile  further  on  the  banks  are  high  and  steep,  and 
the  pine  trees  are  growing  on  top  of  the  bluff  fifty  feet 
from  the  waves.  To-morrow  night  I  shall  take  the  boat 
and  ride  out  for  a  moonlight  view  of  those  sentinels. 

I  find  a  boy  can  be  of  considerable  use,  Roy  especially. 
In  fact,  I  fear  he  did  more  work  to-day  than  I,  peace  to 
his  tired  limbs? 

We  reached  the  lake  about  noon,  and,  after  eating  a 
lunch,  set  out  to  look  for  a  location.  I  should  have  chos- 
en the  bluffs,  but  Roy  argued  me  into  stopping  here  with- 
in easy  reach  of  the  water.  Before  we  leave,  however,  I 
intend  to  have  my  own  way  about  it,  and  go  up  and 
down  those  bluffs  on  a  rope  ladder.  After  lunch  we  put 
up  our  tent,  and  Roy  carried  rocks  and  built  a  fireplace, 
while  I  (having  just  resurrected  ''Consolation"  from  the 
bottom  of  my  trunk)  sat  under  a  pine  tree  and  smoked. 
After  the  tent  w^as  up,  and  a  small  flag  stuck  on  top  by 
the  boy,  and  our  goods  stored  away,  we  took  a  stroll 
around  the  place  and  down  to  the  V\^ater.  While  in 
Chickar  I  ordered  a  boat  to  be  sent  around  to-morrow. 
It  is  late,  and  I  will  stop. 

Friday,  June  9. 
The  boat  came  to-day,  and  the  man  w^ho  came  with  it 
brought  us  some  bread  and  our  mail.     The  boat  had  no 


Why  He  Took  Him  Along.  iii 

name,  and  (as  I  have  found  I  shall  be  compelled  to  do  in 
everything)  I  consulted  the  boy  as  to  the  one  we  should 
give  it. 

''Don't  men  sometimes  name  boats  after  women?"  he 
asked,  in  reply  to  my  inquiry. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  wondering  what  he  was  driving  at. 

"Then  I  say,  name  it  Daisy  Dalrymple." 

Daisy  is  a  young  girl  friend  of  his.  I  met  her  while 
in  Schenectady.  She  is  a  fairly  good-looking  girl,  about 
17  years  old,  has  a  good  form,  red  lips  and  cheeks,  smooth 
forehead,  well  shaped  nose  (I  always  look  at  the  nose), 
and  deep,  girlish  brown  eyes  and  brown  hair.  Besides 
this,  she  wears  a  jaunty  little  hat  that  becomes  her.  I 
probably  would  not  have  noticed  this  last  if  she  had  not 
exchanged  with  another  girl  one  day,  and  I  wondered 
that  I  had  bestowed  a  second  glance  upon  a  girl  with  no 
more  taste,  although  why  I  should  have  given  it  a  passing 
thought  I  don't  know.  The  two  went  to  school  together 
and  were  great  friends — Roy  and  her,  I  mean.  I  like  to 
watch  these  boy  and  girl  friendships,  they  are  so  free 
from  suspicion  and  full  of  happiness.  Let  them  enjoy 
themselves.  After  a  year  or  so  they  will  have  enough  of 
scheming  and  deceit.  Let  life  have  some  of  honest  love 
for  them. 

But  I'm  straying  from  the  boat.  Of  course  I  vetoed 
such  a  name.  Not  that  I  really  object  to  it  very  much 
as  a  name,  but  how  would  it  sound  if  that  boy  should 
write  home  (as  he  would  be  sure  to,  do)  and  tell  his 
father  that  the  boat  we  sailed  in  every  day  had  been 


112  Why  He  Took  Him  Along. 

christened  "Daisy,"    after  Daisy    Dalrymple.       Besides, 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  want  to  name  a  boat  after  her. 

Tuesday,  June  13. 
The  youngster  has  been  swinging  in  his  hammock  be- 
tween the  two  pines  he  chose  as  his  own  when  we  first 
pitched  our  tent  here,  and  now  that  he  has  dropped  off 
into  sleep,  I  have  Hghted  ''Consolation"  anew  and  will 
WTite  up  the  day.  There  isn't  much  worth  chronicling. 
We  botanized  until  evening,  and  then  after  supper  went 
down  to  the  shore  and  pushed  out  the  "Kelpie"  for  a  float 
on  the  lake.  It  was  the  first  ride  we  have  taken  together 
in  the  evening,  except  when  fishing.  But  to-night  we 
went  out  for  pleasure,  and  so,  after  having  rowed  some 
distance  from  land,  we  leaned  back  and  let  the  boat  rock 
on  the  waves  while  we  enjoyed  the  twilight.  There  is 
more  in  that  boy  than  I  thought.  In  fact,  I  am  begin- 
ning to  believe,  that  down  deep  in  every  boy  there  is  hid- 
den what  we  rarely  consider  him  capable  of  possessing. 
Anyhow,  Roy  enjoyed  that  twilight  on  the  lake  more  gen- 
uinely than  any  grown  person  of  my  acquaintance  would. 
The  moon  rose  while  we  were  out,  and,  actually,  as  we 
rocked  in  the  great,  broad  stream  of  light  which  fell  upon 
the  waves,  that  boy  spoke  of  it  as  the  golden  ( I  cannot  say 
for  certain  whether  it  was  golden  or  silver)  road  up  to 
heaven,  and  suggested  the  idea  of  how  beautiful  it  would 
be  if  the  gates  of  heaven  were  really  open  out  there  at  the 
horizon,  and  that  flood  of  light  flowing  out  of  them,  and 
we  rowing  up  the  road  to  the  eternal  gates.       Now,  I 


Why  He  Took  Him  Along.  113 

never  would  have  thought  of  that !  Why  is  it  ?  Has  his 
rehgious  education  been  so  much  better  than  mine? 
Hardly.  It  must  be  that  I  have  lived  a  worldly  life  so 
long  these  things  have  dropped  out.  But  when  I  asked 
him  if  he  was  ready  to  row  across  and  out  into  the  infinite 
beyond,  his  boyish  nature  asserted  itself  over  the  spiritual, 
and  he  shook  his  head. 

"No;  not  until  our  vacation  is  over."  Alas?  school  is 
not  paradise  to  boys  ! 

The  twilight  and  the  moonlight  made  us  confidential, 
and,  while  resting  out  there,  I  told  him  my  story  of  Fran- 
cesca.  Not  as  having  any  connection  with  myself, 
though!  I  have  too  much  desire  to  keep  his  respect  to 
place  myself  before  his  eyes  in  the  light  of  a  deceived 
man.  So  I  told  him  of  my  trust  and  her  deceit  as  if  it 
had  been  the  story  of  some  third  party  I  had  met  in  my 
v/anderings.  But  I  can't  help  feeling  that  those  boyish 
eyes  changed  during  the  story,  and  that,  if  not  fully  con- 
fident, he  has  a  pretty  good  idea  of  who  the  hero  was.  I 
must  take  steps  to-morrow  to  relieve  him  of  any  such 
ideas.     Oh,  3^es,  one  more  item. 

When  I  had  finished  I  looked  at  him,  lying  back  in  the 
stern  of  the  boat,  and  asked : 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  her?"  and  that  boy  said: 

"I  think  Daisy  Dalrymple  wouldn't  have  done  so?" 

Confound  the  boy !     I  believe  he  really  loves  that  girl. 

We  have  been  here  a  week.  Roy  is  developing  a  new 
trait.  He  is  becoming  aflFectionate !  Actually  he  has 
laid  his  head  upon  my  shoulder  twice  in  the  last  two 


114  Why  He  Took  Him  Along. 

days.  I  like  it.  I  am. not  very  affectionate,  but  a  boy  I 
do  like,  and  a  boy's  love  I  would  rather  have  than  any- 
thing else,  for  a  boy's  love  is  honest  and  genuine.  You 
know  just  how  far  you  can  depend  upon  him.  If  he  likes 
you,  he  will  seek  your  company;  if  you  lose  your  wealth 
or  friends,  it  makes  no  difference  to  him ;  he  will  stick  to 
you.  What  a  pity  it  is  there  are  no  more  boys  in  the 
world !  For,  take  them  as  they  are,  rich  or  poor,  dressed 
in  broadcloth  or  rags,  a  genuine  boy  is  something  to 
tie  to. 

Saturday,  June  17. 
To-day  the  fisherman  came  around  again  with  his  bread 
and  mail.  Among  the  letters  was  one  for  Roy,  and  the 
writing  I  noticed  looked  very  much  like  a  note  I  saw  once 
with  ''Daisy"  signed  to  it.  Wonder  if  it  is  from  her? 
We  are  living  a  very  quiet  life  now.  We  hunt  and  fish 
and  botanize.  Roy  is  getting  along  famously  at  the  latter. 
Besides,  we  do  some  reading,  have  finished  "Pickwick," 
"Ivanhoe"  and  "Alhambra,"  and  are  now  half  way 
through  "David  Copperfield."  I,  having  read  it  before, 
prefer  the  character  of  David,  but  Roy  is  fascinated  with 
J.  Steerforth.  Well,  isn't  it  all  right?  Steerforth  had 
many  noble  qualities.  He  sinned,  it  is  true,  but — let  us 
do  as  he  asked,  and  think  of  him  at  his  best !  I  asked  Roy 
if  the  character  of  Agnes  reminded  him  of  any  one,  and 
expected  him  as  usual  to  bring  up  the  name  of  that  girl  of 
his,  Daisy.  But  he  simply  said  "No!"  And  that  re- 
minds me,  he  hasn't  mentioned  her  nam.e  since  that  night 


Why  He  Took  Him  Along.  115 

on  the  lake  when  I  told  him  of  Francesca  and  my  wan- 
dering life  on  account  of  her.  But  he  stares  at  me  at 
times,  with  his  wondering  black  eyes,  in  a  way  I  don't 
like.  I  verily  believe  his  boy  wits  have  fathomed  my 
story. 

Tuesday,  June  28. 

To-day  Roy  asked  me  a  question  that  has  set  me  to 
wondering  again.  What  a  boy  he  is !  We  were  out  fish- 
ing, and  he  was  silent  almost  the  whole  afternoon,  but 
just  as  we  were  preparing  to  go  back  to  shore,  he  burst 
out  all  of  a  sudden  with : 

"Say,  Mr.  Dallas,  suppose  a  girl — who  is  a  good  girl — 
if  a  girl  should  love  a  man — a  man  who  is  good  and  noble 
also — and  be  true  to  him — and  that  man  should  know  of 
it — what  ought  he  to  do?" 

"Never  suppose  such  a  case,  my  boy,"  I  calmly  replied. 
"Girls  don't  love — they  speculate.  Everyone  speculates. 
Men  in  stocks ;  girls  in  men.     You  don't  know  them  !" 

"But,"  he  persisted,  in  his  boyish  way,  "suppose  she 
should  love  him — truly — all  her  life,  and  never  give  him 
up?" 

"What  has  made  you  grow  sentimental  all  at  once, 
Bub?  Has  Daisy  proposed  to  you?  Don't  trust  them," 
I  continued,  in  a  fatherly  way ;  "they  are  all  frauds ;  she 
won't  love  you  long.  You  are  young  now,  and  trustful, 
and  I  don't  like  to  give  the  thing  away  to  you,  but  you 
must  learn  it  some  time.  Never  think  a  girl  will  love 
you  as  you  love  her.     It  is  simply  absurd !     She  will  only 


ii6  Why  He  Took  Him  Along. 

stand  by  you  and  fool  you  until  she  finds  a  richer  man  or 
— a  bigger  fool  There,  don't  be  offended — no  insult  in- 
tended, my  boy.  Those  books  we  have  been  reading 
have  put  too  much  nonsense  in  your  head,  I  see,  and  we 
must  stop  them.  Love  your  Daisy  as  much  as  you  want 
to.  You  will  get  over  it  in  time,  and  no  harm  will  be 
done."  This  last  I  said  as  I  saw  the  poor  boy  was  ac- 
tually feeling  badly. 

He  did  not  say  any  more  until  we  were  near  the  shore.' 
Then  he  took  it  up  again  in  the  same  hesitating  manner. 

"Aren't  men  deceived  by  bad  women  sometimes,  and 
don't  that  make  them  distrustful  of  others  who  may  be 
good?" 

"At  that  still,  are  you?  What  can  be  the  matter  with 
the  boy !  Love  your  Daisy  if  you  want  to,"  I  said,  sorry 
for  the  boy's  feelings  being  so  tender.  "Love  your  Daisy. 
I  will  take  it  all  back  and  swear  by  the  sun,  moon  and 
stars  that  she  will  be  true  to  you — as  long  as  you  want 
her  to !    There,  does  that  not  set  your  mind  at  rest  ?" 

"I  know  it  without  your  swearing,"  he  quietly  an- 
swered, as  we  pulled  the  boat  up  on  the  sand  and  started 
for  camp. 

Wednesday,  July  6. 
I  have  smoked  three  pipes  and  am  now  cool  enough  to 
write.  To-day  we  were  out  in  the  boat,  and  by  some 
blunder  or  other  it  upset.  Before  I  could  get  the  water 
out  of  my  mouth  and  eyes  and  get  my  bearings,  Roy  was 
several  rods  away.     I  sw^am  to  him,  got  him  on  my  back 


Wliy  He  Took  Him  Along.  117 

and  swam  to  land.  He  had  a  good  drenching,  but  that 
was  all.  He  sat  by  the  camp-fire  drying  his  clothes.  I 
noticed  from  my  pine  tree,  where  I  sat  smoking,  that  he 
carefuly  held  a  sheet  of  paper  near  the  flame.  I  watched 
the  boy  curiously,  he  seemed  so  very  important.  After 
it  was  dry,  he  got  up,  came  over  to  me,  and  putting  the 
paper  in  my  mand,  said : 

"I  wish  you  would  read  that,  I  think  you  ought  to 
know  what  is  in  it/'  and  went  back  to  his  place  by  the 
fire. 

I  opened  the  paper  and  found  this  letter,  written  in  a 
round,  girlish  hand: 

"Dear  Roy  :  Your  letter,  telling  me  about  your  camp 
and  how  you  live,  came  a  few  days  ago,  and  I  have 
brought  some  paper  to  school  to  write  to  you  on,  and  will 
answer  it  before  recess.  I  hope  Miss  Knapp  won't  see 
me,  for  if  she  does  there  will  be  another  lecture,  and  lec- 
tures are  tiresome  in  hot  weather.  But,  then,  school  is 
out  this  week.  Everything  is  quiet  as  usual.  Jack  was 
turned  out  of  school  the  week  after  you  left,  and  Harry 
has  no  recess  the  rest  of  the  term,  because  they  tied  a  cat 
up  to  the  bell  rope  by  the  tail.  I  am  glad  you  are  enjoy- 
ing yourself.  I  often  think  of  what  a  happy  time  you 
must  have,  and,  Roy,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  all  about 
Mr.  Dallas,  for,  Roy,  I  believe  I  love  him,  love  him,  love 
him  better  than  my  life.  Do  come  back  soon  and — here 
comes  Mrs.  Knapp !     Good-by.  Your  friend, 

"Daisy." 

That  was  the  end  of  it  all !  I  got  up  and  went  over  to 
the  boy,  and  put  my  arm  around  him,  and  he  responded 


ii8  Why  He  Took  Him  Along. 

by  putting  his  arm  on  my  shoulder  and  laying  his  cheek 
against  mine. 

Tuesday,  July  7. 
We  start  for  Schenectady  to-morrow.  The  fact  is,  I 
don't  like  to  run  the  risk  of  having  Roy  drowned,  and  so 
I  have  agreed  to  go  to  Chickar  to-night,  send  a  man  for 
our  tent,  and  take  the  early  train  for  home  in  the  morning. 
Think  I  will  try  one  summer  in  the  city  for  a  change ! 

Extract  from  Schenectady  Times:     "Married,  October 

7,  18 ,  Miss  Daisy  Dalrymple  to  Mr.  John  Dallas," 

etc. 


Penelope. 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


PENELOPE. 


"Robert,"  said  Aunt  Christine  to  her  brother,  "I  want 
to  speak  to  you  about  that  girl.  I  am  all  out  of  patience 
with  her." 

"What  has  poor  Nell  been  doing  now?" 

"Nothing.  That  is  the  trouble.  Nothing,  when  she 
ought  to  be  getting  married,  or  getting  ready  to  do  so." 

"Perhaps  she  doesn't  wish  to,"  answered  Uncle  Rob, 
with  a  light  laugh  at  his  sister's  vehemence. 

"That's  it !  Here  she  is,  rich,  good-looking  and  intel- 
ligent, and  at  the  age  of  26  still  unmarried ;  and  when  I 
spoke  to  her  to-day  about  Senator  Tredennis  and  Lord 
Richland,  wanting  to  know  which  she  intended  to  marry, 
she  quietly  informed  me  that  she  hadn't  the  slightest  in- 
tention of  marrying  any  one  at  present !  Sometimes  I 
wish  that  uncle  of  hers  had  not  left  her  that  money.  I 
shouldn't  have  so  much  to  worry  over  if  she  were  the 
poor  girl  she  was  ten  years  ago." 

"By  the  way,  I  wonder  where  she  is?" 

"In  the  parlor  refusing  Lord  Richland  very  likely." 

"Well,  suppose  I  go  and  stop  it?" 

He  smiled  to  himself  as  he  walked  down  the  piazza,  at 


122  Penelope. 

the  novel  idea  of  him  preventing  anything  Helen  wanted 
to  do.  Helen,  who  had  been  his  pet  from  the  time  she 
had  waded  bare-footed  in  the  surf  and  built  mimic  forts 
in  the  sand ! 

But  Aunt  Christine  was  wrong  in  her  surmise  this  time, 
for  when  her  brother  entered  the  parlor  he  found  it  occu- 
pied by  both  the  Senator  and  the  Lord,  as  well  as  Helen. 
She  was  more  beautiful  than  ever,  thought  Uncle  Robert 
as  he  looked  at  her.  And  still  it  would  be  difficult  to  name 
in  what  her  beauty  consisted.  Her  face  was  fair,  but  no 
more.  And  yet  there  was  something  about  her  which 
compelled  one  to  admire.  Perhaps  it  was  her  uniform 
ladylike  calmness  and  reserve.  There  are  some  women 
who  can  so  hedge  themselves  in  with  pride  that  men  will 
worship  them  as  divine.  Helen  was  busy  with  a  mass  of 
blue  and  white  floss,  deftly  weaving  them  into  some  fancy 
work,  and  Mr.  Alison,  as  he  stood  at  the  door,  heard  the 
Senator  saying : 

"We  used  to  wonder  in  Washington  what  it  was  Miss 
Winter  was  knitting.  Col.  Monks  once  said  it  reminded 
him  of  Penelope's  web ;  at  least  it  was  never  finished." 

Mr.  Alison  was  surprised  to  see  a  delicate  color  spread 
over  the  girl's  face  as  if  the  remark  had  touched  her 
heart. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  two  gentlemen  stepped  out 
upon  the  piazza  and  left  Mr.  Alison  and  his  niece  alone. 

''Now,"  thought  Mr.  Alison,  "is  the  time  to  have  it 
over." 

"Helen,"  he  began  solemnly,   but   Helen   slipped   her 


Penelope.  123 

hand  into  his  arm,  and  by  a  pleading  look  quite  put  to 
flight  all  ideas  of  rebuke  he  might  have  had. 

''There,  Uncle  Robert,  I  know  all  you  intend  saying. 
Aunt  has  been  talking  to  you.  Are  you  going  to  turn 
against  me^  too?" 

"Just  as  I  knew  it  would  be,"  said  Mr.  Alison.  "I 
came  in  with  all  sorts  of  arguments  ready " 

"For  the  California  mansion  or  the  English  castle? 
Be  at  rest  concerning  the  first ;  I  do  not  fancy  the  land  of 
oranges." 

"And  the  castle  ?    Do  you  mean " 

"Uncle,"  said  Helen,  quietly,  "I  do  not  love  either  of 
them.  Would  you  have  me  marry  them  without  love  ?  I 
have  a  home;  I  need  not  marry  for  that."  And  to  Mr. 
Alison's  surprise  again  a  tear  fell  upon  his  hand  as  she 
bent  over  and  kissed  him. 

"Can  it  be  Col.  Monks,"  he  wondered  to  himself,  but 
only  said  aloud : 

"Forgive  me,  dear,  and  we  will  drop  the  subject.  And 
by  the  way,  I  have  a  new  acquaintance  for  you.  I  used 
to  know  him  years  ago  when  you  were  a  child,  but  for 
the  last  five  years  he  has  been  in  Australia.  Lately  he  re- 
turned, and  to-day  I  met  him  down  at  the  Cliff  House, 
he  is  boarding  there  for  a  few  weeks  while  making  some 
studies  along  the  shore." 

For  the  second  time,  that  evening,  the  delicate  color 
flushed  over  the  girl's  face,  and  her  uncle  went  away 
deeply  puzzled  at  such  an  unusual  circumstance.     Helen 


124  Penelope. 

stood  for  a  moment  where  he  had  left  her  and  then 
walked  across  the  room  and  looked  at  her  image  in  the 
long  mirror. 

"Penelope's  web!"  she  said,  softly:  "I  wonder  if  she 
kept  her  beauty  all  those  twenty  years  of  waiting !  Five 
years  are  not  so  long,  and  yet — and  yet — I  wonder  if  my 
web  will  ever  be  done.  Am  I  giving  up  my  life  to  a 
fancy  ?  How  aunt  would  cut  me  if  she  knew !  Five  years 
for  a  fancy/'  Then,  as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  "If 
five  years,  then  it  will  be  a  life." 

That  night  Judge  Mammon  gave  a  ball.  Helen  had 
just  been  dancing  with  one  of  her  twenty  suitors,  and  at 
her  request  had  been  led  back  to  her  aunt's  chair.  Mr. 
Alison  was  just  presenting  a  friend  to  his  sister,  and  then, 
turning  suddenly,  John  Warrington  looked  into  the  face 
he  had  been  dreaming  of  for  years. 

"Mr.  Warrington  and  I  hardly  need  an  introduction," 
said  Helen  gracefuly,  extending  her  hand  as  she  spoke. 
Again  Mr.  Alison  was  nonplussed,  and  his  faint  suspicion 
vanished.  How  was  he  to  know  that  every  nerve  in  the 
girl's  body  was  tingling,  and  that  it  required  all  the  ef- 
fort she  could  exert,  in  spite  of  her  years  of  training  in 
coldness,  to  make  the  greeting  calmly. 

Could  it  be  that  five  long  years  had  passed  since  she 
had  gazed  into  those  earnest  eyes,  or  heard  the  quiet 
voice  saying,  precisely  as  so  often  long  ago,  "Are  you 
happy  to-night.  Miss  Winters?"  Why  had  he  chosen 
these  words  for  his  greeting?  she  found  herself  asking 
over  and  over.     And  as  she  stood  silent  for  a  moment, 


Penelope.  125 

dimly  conscious  that  her  aunt  was  making  one  of  her 
quaint  speeches  to  the  old  friend,  and  that  Lord  Richland 
was  at  her  side  claiming  her  hand  for  the  next  waltz,  a 
scene  flashed  before  her  eyes  which  carried  her  back  to 
childhood. 

There  was  a  quiet  stretch  of  beach  and  the  ocean  roll- 
ing up  at  her  feet;  in  the  background  a  tumbled-down 
house — her  home — and  she,  herself,  a  bare-footed  girl, 
playing  with  sand  and  waves,  happy  as  the  day  was  long. 
An  artist,  who  consituted  her  world  outside  her  home, 
sketching  sea  and  land.  She  stopped  to  wonder  if  he  re- 
membered a  certain  picture  he  drew  once  of  a  little  girl 
standing  upon  the  shore  and  looking  out  over  the  sea. 
He  had  given  it  to  her,  and  she  had  preserved  it  all  these 
years. 

The  memory  of  happy  days  upon  the  sunny  beach  sud- 
denly gave  way  to  another.  A  room  in  the  tumbled-down 
house,  and  in  it  a  little  girl  tossing  restlessly  upon  a  bed 
and  moaning  in  delirious  fever.  The  village  doctor  stand- 
ing helplessly  by;  her  poor  old  father  crying  quietly  to 
himself.  The  artist  enters  the  room  and  kneels  by  her 
bed.  She  seems  at  once  to  realize  his  presence.  He  takes 
her  hand  and  speaks  to  her,  lowly  but  earnestly.  His 
voice  recalls  her  from  her  wondering,  as  it  had  called 
her  to  him  so  many  times  before  when  wandering  upon 
the  beach.  To-night  the  music  of  the  dream-waltz  they 
were  playing  seemed  a  fitting  accompaniment  to  those 
words  which  were  still  ringing  in  her  ears — "Do  not 
worry  any  more,  Helen ;  rest  and  be  happy."     In  all  her 


126  Penelope. 

life  afterward  she  had  never  once  thought  of  the  words 
as  being  strange. 

"Happy !"  That  seemed  to  be  the  burden  of  his  wishes 
for  her,  and  she,  tired  child,  obeyed  the  call,  and  rested, 
happy,  because  he  was  with  her. 

And  now  she  was  a  woman,  and,  thanks  to  an  uncle 
she  had  never  seen,  the  belle  of  the  season.  Ah,  the  belle 
of  the  season,  thinking  her  wealth  would  be  well  spent 
could  she  but  bring  back  that  happy  life ! 

It  was  only  for  a  moment.  Then  she  spoke  to  War- 
rington. 

"Have  you  finished  your  picture?"  she  asked. 

He  smiled,  as  if  it  were  the  most  commonplace  remark, 
instead  of  one  bridging  over  a  gulf  of  five  years. 

"How  quickly  you  go  back  to  our  old  life,  as  if  we 
had  parted  but  yesterday.  No,  I  have  not  finished  it. 
As  you  know,  I  went  to  Australia  soon  after  I  saw  you 
last,  and  there  I  did  not  use  my  brush  much.  Besides, 
I  could  not  finish  the  picture,"  and  he  broke  ofiP  abruptly. 

"You  will  tell  me  why  some  time,  perhaps,"  she  said 
softly.     "Tell  me  now  what  you  have  been  doing." 

Many  times  had  John  Warrington  run  over  in  his  mind 
the  manner  in  which  he  would  meet  this  girl  and  tell 
her  why  his  career  as  an  artist  had  been  broken  so  sud- 
denly, and  these  years  spent  in  business.  It  was  one  of 
the  bright  dreams  of  his  Australian  life.  But  fate  had 
willed  differently  from  what  he  hoped. 

"My  story  is  short,  little  Helen."  He  called  her  by  her 
old  name,  placing  them  again  in  the  position  of  child  and 


Penelope.  127 

man,  and  she  liked  it.  *'I  went  out  to  seek  my  fortune. 
Found  it.  Lost  it.  And  have  come  back  as  poor  as  I 
went.  Now  I  begin  with  my  brush  where  I  left  off  five 
years  ago." 

"Left  off  five  years  ago !"  she  repeated  to  herself.  They 
stood  silent  for  a  moment,  he  thinking  of  the  barrier  be- 
tween them  which  his  five  years  had  meant  to  break  down, 
and  she  wondering  if  that  old  "rest  and  happiness"  was 
never  to  be  realized  again. 

Then  Aunt  Christine  claimed  Warrington's  attention, 
and  they  parted. 

Warrington's  success  during  the  next  six  months  made 
him  often  question  whether  it  would  not  have  been  better 
had  he  remained  at  his  studio  instead  of  dropping  five 
years  of  his  life  across  the  seas.  The  world  needs  but 
a  little  start  to  send  it  worshiping,  and  good  Mr.  Alison 
put  it  in  motion  toward  Warrington — that  is,  the  part  of 
it  represented  by  the  city  in  which  he  had  established  his 
studio. 

One  day  a  party  of  friends  visited  him.  Helen  and 
Lord  Richland  were  among  the  number,  and  the  latter 
had  determined  to  know  his  fate  before  he  left  the  studio. 
The  answer  he  received  was  the  same  that  Penelope  gave 
to  all  her  suitors,  but  he  was  so  thoroughly  in  earnest 
that  Helen  was  sorry  for  him  and  gave  him  her  hand. 
He  stooped  to  kiss  it,  and  then  Helen  saw  that  Warring- 
ton was  standing  in  the  entrance  to  the  room.  He  turned 
away  immediately,  but  Helen  called  to  him. 


128  Penelope. 

''Mr.  Warrington,  will  you  show  us  the  picture  you 
have  just  completed?" 

''Certainly,"  he  answered.  "It  is  in  this  room;"  and, 
drawing  aside  a  curtain^  displayed  a  picture  still  resting 
upon  the  easel. 

"It  is  called  'Penelope,' "  he  said,  quietly. 

Helen  gave  one  look  at  the  canvas  and  her  face  turned 
crimson. 

Not  the  Queen  herself  could  have  been  more  lovely  than 
the  face  portrayed  upon  the  canvas,  and  yet,  idealized 
through  it  all,  she  saw  herself.  Once,  long  ago,  Warring- 
ton had  spoken  of  her  knitting  as  a  perfect  "Penelope's 
web,"  and  had  begun  the  picture  which  was  unfinished 
when  she  received  her  fortune  and  he  departed  for  Aus- 
tralia. 

The  painting  came  to  her  like  a  revelation,  and  as  the 
party  was  about  to  leave  she  went  up  to  Warrington  and 
said: 

"Mr.  Warrington,  will  you  please  make  no  disposal  of 
your  last  picture  until  you  see  me  again?  Will  you  call 
to-morrow  ?" 

He  looked  surprised,  but  assented.  Was  it  to  tell  him 
of  her  engagement,  he  wondered. 

Helen  was  sitting  in  the  library  when  he  came  the  next 
afternoon,  and  he  noticed  that  her  work  was  in  her  hands. 
She  was  too  deeply  in  earnest  to  talk  of  common  topics, 
but  went  directly  to  her  subject. 

"Mr.  Warrington,  do  you  remember  a  little  sketch  you 


Penelope.  129 

made  nearly  fifteen  years  ago?  You  gave  it  to  me,  and 
now  I  want  your  Tenelope/  to " 

"What  picture  ?"  he  asked ;  "not  the  one  I  drew  of  you 
upon  the  beach?" 

She  handed  it  to  him. 

"And  you  have  kept  this  all  these  years  ?  Do  you  really 
care  for  it,  little  Helen?  Do  you  ever  think  of  those 
days  now  ?  You  were  but  a  child  then,  but  I  would  give 
all  my  life  to  live  that  summer  over  again.  I  never 
thought  I  should  be  so  mad  as  to  say  this.  I  have  loved 
you  ever  since  that  happy  summer  when  I  brought  you 
back  to  life.  Then,  when  this  fortune  came  to  you,  being 
proud,  I  went  away.  I  could  not  bear  the  name  of  having 
been  a  fortune-hunter,  and  was  afraid  you  would  think, 
as  others  would,  should  I,  a  poor,  penniless  artist,  ask  you 
to  be  my  wife — and  I  would  not  stand  that !  I  went  away 
hoping  to  be  able  to  come  to  you  without  a  shadow  of 
doubt.  I  came  back  as  poor  as  I  went.  I  finished  my 
picture,  thinking  it  would  be  my  renunciation,  and  when 
I  saw  you  and  Richland  in  the  studio  I  knew  it  was  so. 
But  now  I  cannot  help  telling  you  I  have  loved  you,  and 
you  will  believe  me  now,  will  you  not,  little  Helen?" 

"You  told  me  once  to  be  happy,  and  I  obeyed  you,  be- 
cause you  were  with  me.  Why  have  you  not  trusted  me 
long  ago?" 

"Trust  you  ?  You  do  not  mean,  Helen,  that  you  have 
loved  me  all  these  years  ?  I  dare  not  believe  it !  Others 
have  wooed  you — others  far  better  than  T " 

"Yes,  dear,  but  Penelope  waited  for  Ulysses !" 


What  Shall   She   Do? 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


WHAT  SHALL  SHE  DO? 


]  AN  OIvD  MANUSCRIPT. 

I  am  a  newspaper  reporter  and  a  poor  one  at  that,  I 
sometimes  think  as  I  examine  my  not  very  plethoric 
pocketbook. 

A  few  years  ago  the  Daily  Capital,  published  in  To- 
peka,  changed  management,  and  among  other  schemes  of 
the  newly  organized  company  was  one  to  establish  a 
branch  office  in  Kansas  City.  Being  out  of  work,  and 
having  some  influence  with  the  business  manager,  I  se- 
cured the  position  and  was  sent  down  to  take  charge  of 
the  new  venture. 

My  office  was  in  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  I  occu- 
pied a  room  with  two  grain  men  and  a  dealer  in  pork. 
Desk  room  had  been  secured  for  me,  and  a  neat  sign 
placed  on  the  door  beneath  the  others,  calling  the  atten- 
tion of  visitors  to  the  fact  that  within  could  be  found 
the  representative  of  the  Topeka  Capital,  who  was  ready 
at  all  times  to  receive  them  in  every  capacity.  My  duties 
were  various.  Each  morning  I  noted  the  various  changes 
on  'Change,  and  each  afternoon  took  a  trip  to  the  stock- 
yards to  note  the  state  of  the  market  there,  all  of  which 


134  What  Shall  She  Do? 

observations  were  duly  telegraphed  to  the  Topeka  paper 
in  the  evening.  In  addition  to  this  I  was  expected  twice 
a  week  to  write  a  commercial  letter  giving  the  exact  state 
of  the  markets  of  the  world  and  prognosticating  the  same 
for  a  week  to  come.  Then  there  was  a  daily  news  letter, 
the  use  of  the  "wire"  in  case  of  emergency  (I  was  the 
Associated  Press  reporter),  and  the  soliciting  of  adver- 
tisements. 

With  all  this  on  my  shoulders  little  else  could  be  ex- 
pected, and  yet  I  found  time  for  one  little  affair  which 
came  to  my  knowledge  and  which  I  now  propose  to 
give  to  the  public.  When  I  was  installed  in  my  office  I 
was  given  an  old,  time  stained  desk  which  had  once  done 
duty  in  the  editorial  roorns  of  the  Kansas  City  Times. 
There  were  a  number  of  old  papers  in  the  drawers,  and 
one  day  after  returning  to  the  office  a  little  earlier  than 
usual  I  began  clearing  them  out.  Among  many  worth- 
less newspaper  scraps  (evidently  laid  away  by  some  re- 
porter for  future  use)  I  found  the  following  manuscripts, 
which  I  sent  to  my  chief  for  publication  and  which  I  here 
insert. 


II. 

THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE. 

[Written  for  the  Sunday  Capital.] 

It  was  under  no  ghostly  circumstances  that  I  first  saw 
the  place — that  is,  after  it  became  haunted. 

Fifteen  years  in  India  had  made  me  feel  almost  like 


What  Shall  She  Do?  135 

a  stranger  in  my  own  land,  and  after  a  brief  visit  to  the 
remnants  that  were  left  of  my  family,  I  took  the  first 
train  for  a  little  hamlet  in  Ohio  whither  I  proposed  bring- 
ing my  household  gods  and  settling  down  to  pass  the 
remainder  of  my  life  in  peace. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  and  I  came  upon  the  house 
in  the  early  sunlight. 

It  was  built  upon  the  colonial  plan,  with  a  mixture  of 
Swede  and  Norwegian;  the  founder  evidently  had  first 
built  a  square  house  of  four  rooms,  with  an  immense  hall 
running  through  it,  and  afterward  added  a  hen  coop  here 
and  a  dormer  window  there,  a  lean-to  on  the  left  and  a 
"T"  on  the  right,  until  he  had  but  to  slope  the  roof  down 
to  the  hillside  and  the  house  was  complete.  It  may  have 
been  a  model  of  architecture  once,  but  it  most  assuredly 
was  a  first-class  model  of  inconvenience  and  uncleanness 
then.  The  whole  place  was  sadly  neglected.  The  gate 
was  broken,  the  fence  demoralized,  and  the  garden  grown 
up  with  weeds.  The  orchard  was  unpruned  and  the 
ground  strewn  with  dead  branches ;  the  stable  dilapidated 
and  the  fields  barren.  But  none  of  these  makes  a  house 
ghostly. 

There  are  three  circumstances  under  which  a  house 
will  seem  supernatural,  but  it  must  not  be  gone  to  ruin. 
On  the  contrary,  a  field  of  grain  ready  to  cut,  but  with 
no  reapers  in  it;  a  neat  yard  and  a  house  in  good  order, 
with  all  the  necessities  of  life  in  it,  standing  solitary  and 
silent  on  a  hot  August  day  when  the  sunlight  comes  down 
in  a  shower  of  blinding  rays — such  a  place  will,  in  my 


136  What  SHall  She  Do? 

opinion,  make  the  most  courageous  speak  in  low  and  rev- 
erent tones.  The  family,  one  may  know,  have  only  gone 
to  the  village  to  lay  in  their  week's  supply  of  groceries, 
but  the  effect  is  the  same. 

The  other  hours  are  at  night  or  early  morning,  when 
the  house  is  full  of  loved  ones.  There  is  something  awful 
in  passing  by  the  face  of  a  sleeper,  and,  looking  upon  that 
quiet  face  which  knows  us  not,  to  be  conscious  that  our 
nearest  and  dearest  is,  though  bodily  present,  far  away, 
wandering  in  the  realms  of  the  unknown;  entering  the 
field  of  spirits,  meeting,  perhaps,  with  angels  whom  we 
know  not.  Added  to  this  feeling  of  care,  which  steals  over 
one  as  he  contemplates  the  face  of  the  sleeper,  comes  also 
a  slight  tinge  of  jealousy  and  of  fear,  lest  when  the  sleeper 
does  awaken  the  dream  visitants  may  not  leave  the  friend 
of  yesterday  exactly  the  same  to-day;  we  are  conscious 
also  that  the  other  part  of  ouk  life,  lying  there  so  silent, 
is  now  in  that  oblivion,  the  type  of  the  deeper  one  we 
all  must  enter  later!  For  her  lying  there,  the  world  is 
nothing.  The  book  is  finished,  the  music  silent^  the 
work  done !    It  is  as  if  she  were  not. 

This  sensation  will  come  at  any  time  when  we  gaze 
upon  the  sleeping  faces  of  a  household,  but  more  strongly 
does  it  come  in  the  early  hours  of  morning  light.  Coming 
into  the  room,  ready  for  work,  we  feel  the  sleepers  should 
be  back  in  the  world  also,  and  are  surprised  that  they  are 
not;  and  because  they  do  not  respond  to  our  silent  pres- 
ence by  awakening  we  shudder  and  draw  back. 

A  house  with  no  one  in  it  may  be  ghostly,  but  it  must 


What  Shall  She  Do?  137 

be  as  nearly  human  as  possible.  If  there  are  no  traces 
of  human  hands  about,  the  spectres  of  the  departed  are 
not  near  so  easily  conjured  up. 

So,  as  I  said,  it  was  under  no  ghostly  circumstances 
that  I  saw  the  house;  in  the  cool  autumn  morning  it 
seemed  as  commonplace  as  any  other  rickety  shed.  Yet 
I  knew  it  was  haunted! 

I  went  on  by  to  the  next  farm  house.  They,  also,  knew 
it  was  haunted.  I  did  not  need  to  ask  the  question  from 
the  farmer  who  was  just  coming  from  the  barn,  but  I  did. 
He  looked  at  me,  shook  his  head,  leaned  up  against  a 
convenient  tree,  and  answered : 

"I  say  nothing." 

"Then  you  know  it  is  ?" 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  live  in  it." 

"Why  not?" 

In  a  slow,  matter-of-fact  manner  he  went  on,  without 
a  particle  of  emotion,  or  a  shade  of  emphasis,  as  if  he 
were  repeating  a  half-learned  lesson. 

"If  I  wanted  all  the  doors  opened  with  no  one  to  open 
them,  and  tramping  overhead  and  in  the  next  room,  and 
lights  and  white  objects  flitting  around,  why,  then,  I 
would!"  From  which  I  gathered  that  all  these  things 
were  in  the  habit  of  occurring  in  the  old  place. 

"Something  is  seen,  then  ?"  I  said.  "What  is  it  ?  What 
causes  the  racket?" 

"A  woman  in  white." 

"Have  you  seen  her?" 

The  man  crossed  himself  and  said  nothing,  which  im- 


138  What  Shall  She  Do? 

parted  to  me  the  information  that  he  was  a  Roman  Catho- 
lic, and  superstitious.  It  also  left  me  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  he  had  seen  her,  and  crossed  himself  lest  she 
should  again  appear,  or  whether  he  had  not,  but  feared 
that  on  mention  she  might  come  up  and  stand  between 
us  to  reprove  me  for  my  lightness. 

But  I  took  the  house,  or  rather  moved  into  it,  for  I 
already  held  the  deed,  and  that  week  found  us  comforta- 
bly settled.     Comfortably,  did  I  say?    In  a  manner. 

It  was  late  October.  Already  the  leaves  were  putting 
on  their  dying  colors  of  red  and  scarlet  or  turning  into 
autumn  brown.  Besides  the  family  (my  aunt  and  my- 
self) I  brought  with  me  a  deaf  man  of  all  work  (an 
Englishman),  a  cook,  and  a  waiter  girl.  Together  we 
went  over  the  house,  I  taking  the  lead  as  lord  and  master, 
and  John  bringing  up  the  rear.  Into  the  parlor,  with  its 
faded  grandeur,  and  into  the  sitting  room,  now  bleak  and 
bare  as  an  old  granary ;  into  the  bedrooms,  with  their  torn 
paper  and  shaky  windows,  and  into  the  long  dining  room, 
with  its  walnut  casing  and  broken  cement. 

Mixed  up  with  rooms  and  halls  were  queer  little  alcoves 
and  closets  and  wardrobes,  stairs  and  lofts,  scattered 
about  promiscuously  and  in  the  most  unexpected  places. 
Upstairs  there  was  the  same  air  of  decay  and  loneliness. 
But  I  must  confess  that  a  different  feeling  came  over 
me  when  I  approached  a  little  room  at  the  rear  of  the 
house.  It  was  an  unseemly,  uncomfortable  looking  place, 
with  one  windovv'  opening  out  upon  the  kitchen  roof  and 
making  an  easy  escape  to  the  hill  back  of  the  house.  When 


What  Shall  She  Do?  139 

I  opened  the  door,  the  room  was  empty ;  yet  even  to  my 
unimaginative  mind  came  a  dim  feeling  of  awe,  as  if  I 
were  suddenly  stepping  back  into  the  past.  The  thought 
of  ghosts  did  not  enter  my  head,  yet  I  felt  as  if  the  room 
was  not  empty.  It  looked  as  if  there  was  something  in 
it.  This  was  the  room  the  lady  in  white  visited.  So,  at 
least,  said  the  farmer.     I  chose  it  for  my  bedroom. 

For  the  better  preservation  of  peace  in  the  house  we 
had  agreed  to  say  nothing  to  the  servants  about  its  ghosts. 
But  before  night  we  had  got  into  a  perfectly  supernatural 
groove,  in  which  we  seemed  very  likely  to  run  the  rest  of 
our  sojourn. 

I  had  an  idea  that  I  kept  all  outsiders  away,  but  catch- 
ing a  glimpse  of  my  Romish  neighbor's  wife  slipping  out 
of  the  shed  and  cautiously  winding  her  way  around  the 
hill,  I  understood  that  all  my  precautions  had  been  in 
vain.  The  cook  and  the  waiter  knew  it !  The  house  was 
haunted !  By  an  hour  after  dark  the  latter  had  seen  eyes 
gleaming  at  her  out  of  the  misty  corner  of  the  great  hall, 
and  she  began  developing  strange  physical  faculties  I 
had  never  dreamed  one  small  woman  could  possess.  Be- 
fore supper  was  served  the  traces  of  a  white  robe  flutter- 
ing from  my  bedroom  window  had  been  seen  by  the 
cook,  though  what  possessed  her  to  go  out  on  the  hill  and 
gaze  up  over  the  kitchen  roof  at  my  window,  I  never 
could  fathom.  And  our  meal,  which  I  always  want  to  eat 
in  peace,  was  twice  broken  in  upon  by  the  strange  actions 
of  the  waiter,  who  suddenly  became  afflicted  with  a  dis- 
agreeable habit  of  stiffening  from  her  toes  upward  at 


I40  What  SHall  She  Do? 

the  most  unexpected  moment,  and  remaining  with 
eyes  fixed  upon  me  in  the  most  deadly  manner  imagina- 
ble, until  we  resuscitated  her.  Both  times,  Jane,  the  cook, 
was  called  in  to  administer  restoratives,  and  each  time 
was  found  diluting  herself  with  tears  and  murmuring 
about  the  ghost. 

So  we  went  on.  "Woman  in  white!"  According  to 
the  waiter  and  cook,  there  were  fifty  of  them,  and  not 
confining  themselves  to  their  proper  sporting  place,  my 
bedroom,  they  swarmed  over  and  filled  the  whole  house. 
The  cook  has  seen  her  wandering  around  in  the  out- 
house at  the  same  instant  that  the  waiter  stiffened  over 
her  white  robes  in  the  dusky  parlor. 

Noises  !  I  myself  have  sat  in  the  parlor  and  heard  such 
noises  as  nothing  but  Bedlam  could  have  produced,  I 
thought.  The  whole  house  would  take  a  streak  of  groan- 
ing and  creaking  and  I  could  have  sworn  that  I  heard 
steps  overhead.  So  matters  went  on  from  bad  to  worse. 
The  servants  were  continually  going  around  ready  primed 
for  a  swoon  at  any  minute,  and  I  can  vouch  for  picking 
up  the  cook  three  times  in  one  half  hour  as  she  made 
three  unsuccessful  attempts  to  get  up  into  the  second  floor 
after  dark. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  laughed  at  their  fears  or  removed 
the  cause.  If  I  showed  the  white  woman  in  the  parlor  to 
be  a  streak  of  moonlight  once,  I  did  so  fifty  times,  and 
each  time  the  cook  only  looked  incredulous  and  said: 
"Yes,  I  see,"  and  the  "Stiffner"  glared  at  me  more  fiercely 
than  ever.     But  when  I  suggested  buying  a  few  rat  traps 


What  Shall  She  Do?  141 

to  settle  the  noises,  the  two  arose  at  once  and  declared 
that  it  was  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  to  suggest 
such  a  thing  and  that  they  would  not  stand  it. 

At  last  our  little  company  became  so  completely  de- 
moralized that  one  morning  after  breakfast,  at  which 
the  steak  had  come  up  burnt  black  and  the  coffee  bitter 
and  cold,  I  turned  to  my  aunt  and  said : 

"Aunt  Chris,  I  begin  to  fear  we  will  have  to  give  it  up." 
But  my  aunt,  who  is  a  woman  of  spirit,  replied : 

"No,  James,  we  will  not  give  it  up.  Turn  off  the 
women  and  we  will  run  the  house  ourselves;  or,  rather, 
send  them  away,  and  we  will  have  only  ourselves  to  wait 
on." 

Like  many  another  innocent  male  victim,  I  had  never 
thought  of  getting  along  without  these  faithful  incum- 
brances. But,  as  I  always  do,  I  assented  to  my  aunt's 
plan,  and  the  servants  departed. 

It  was  now  getting  along  toward  the  holidays.  In  the 
early  autumn,  when  we  first  thought  of  this  winter  resi- 
dence, we  had  rashly  invited  a  company  of  friends  to 
spend  some  time  with  us.  They,  not  being  aware  of  the 
supernatural  visitants  of  our  home,  and  the  present  de- 
fenseless condition  of  its  inmates,  we  passed  a  day  in 
writing  to  them  and  explaining  the  situation.  Being  of 
sound  minds,  they  all  came. 

We  drew  lots  for  rooms,  and  each  bound  himself  or 
herself  to  wage  unceasing  warfare  upon  all  spiritual  vis- 
itants, and  in  the  last  night  of  the  holidays  to  gather 
in  the  great  dining  room,  heap  up  the  table  with  nuts  and 


142  What  Shall  She  Do? 

apples,  build  a  roaring  fire  in  the  old-fashioned  fireplace 
(which  was  one  of  the  additions  to  the  home,  and  entirely 
outside  of  the  dining  room),  and  there,  under  the  mellow- 
ing influence  of  a  jug  of  good  cider,  confess  what  we  had 
seen.  Until  then,  silence.  Of  course,  as  holding  the 
white  lady's  chief  camping  ground,  I  stood  the  best  chance 
of  lifting  the  company's  hair  when  ''twelfth  night"  came. 
And  so  the  days  passed  on. 

But  the  house  was  really  haunted.  I  was  soon  as  thor- 
oughly convinced  of  the  fact  as  I  was  skeptical  of  it  at 
first. 

The  first  change  that  I  noticed  in  my  room  was  on  the 
19th  of  December.  I  was  standing  before  the  mirror  on 
my  dressing  table,  brushing  my  hair  before  going  down  to 
breakfast.  As  I  looked  in  the  mirror,  I  was  astonished 
to  see  that  I  was  smoothing  the  hair,  not  of  a  staid  gen- 
tleman of  thirty-seven  years,  but  the  obstinate  capillary 
adornment  of  a  boy.  I  shut  my  eyes  for  a  moment,  and 
when  I  opened  them  found  the  boy  gone  and  a  young 
man  looking  straight  into  my  face.  His  eyes  had  a  far- 
away, familiar  look  about  them,  as  the  eyes  of  an  old 
friend  just  called  up  from  the  past,  half  recognized,  half 
strange.  The  apparition  remained  until  I  turned  away 
and  went  down  to  the  breakfast  room. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  it.  And  after  a  beginning 
was  once  made  I  had  not  a  night's  peace.  From  that  time 
I  was  led  about  into  the  wildest  and  most  fantastic  esca-^ 
pades  imaginable.     I  remember  that  very  same  night  I 


What  Shall  She  Do?  143 

had  blown  out  my  lamp,  gone  to  bed,  and  was  lying,  look- 
ing out  at  the  hill,  white  with  moonlight  as  if  covered 
with  snow.  I  had  lain  there  but  a  few  minutes  when  a 
lady  in  white  came  in  and  seated  herself  by  the  window. 

With  a  motion  hardly  perceptible  she  indicated  that  she 
wished  me  to  follow  her,  and  no  power  on  earth  could 
have  held  me  back.  Out  upon  the  old  roof,  down  to 
the  white  hill,  and  through  the  ravine,  we  went  at  a  rate 
defying  competition.  In  an  incredibly  short  time  we 
were  miles  away  and  in  a  little  white  school-house. 

When  we  left  the  school-house  we  were  tramping 
through  the  woods,  which  were  no  longer  bare  and  brown 
from  autumn  days,  but  green  with  spring,  and  our  feet 
trod  among  violets  and  bluebells. 

There  was  a  large  city  which  I  traversed  till  I  knew 
every  street.  There  was  a  house  and  an  office  and  a 
desk,  and  in  and  at  these  I  was  compelled  to  sit  and  add 
long  columns  of  figures  and  post  imaginary  books. 

So  the  week  went  by.  One  night,  I  remember,  was 
passed  in  wandering  over  the  fields  and  through  the 
woods,  which  under  this  ghostly  chaperonage  was  bright 
with  flowers  and  green  with  leaves  and  grass.  And  I 
spoke  in  terms  of  love  to  the  little  lady  in  white  who  ac- 
companied me. 

The  nights  of  the  226.  and  23d  were  passed  in  the  same 
manner,  and  we  planned  a  life  together  as  full  of  idyllic 
days  as  were  these  evenings.  But  the  night  of  the  24th, 
Christmas  eve,  as  the  little  princess  came  into  my  room 
and  I  was  preparing  to  start  upon  another  trip,  I  found 


144  What  Shall  She  Do? 

other  influences  were  at  work.  The  more  she  entreated 
me  to  come,  the  less  able  was  I  to  obey,  until  at  length 
I  saw  reflected  in  the  shaky  looking  glass  at  the  foot  of 
my  bed,  a  strange  shape  that  had  not  intruded  upon  us 
before. 

I  do  not  remember  distinctly  what  happened  then.  But 
this  I  do  know,  that  the  second  shape  drew  me  away  from 
her  serene  highness  and  out  into  the  night.  The  next  I 
knew  I  was  crossing  the  ocean. 

Then  I  found  myself  in  a  quaint  old  town,  with  queer 
houses,  and  still  queerer  people.  In  an  hour  more  I  was 
among  the  ruins  of  Rome,  and  then  I  scaled  the  Pyramids 
of  Egypt ;  I  talked  tea  to  a  Chinaman  and  coflFee  to  a  Java 
Islander.  I  was  imprisoned  in  Siberia  and  ran  a  race 
with  a  Hottentot.  It  was  wonderful  what  flights  I  took 
in  an  hour's  time. 

When  I  got  back  to  my  room  the  little  princess  was 
gone. 

During  the  whole  of  the  Christmas  day  I  went  around 
in  a  dazed  manner — drawn  into  myself,  as  my  friends 
said.  That  was  another  Christmas  day  which  I  did  not 
enjoy.  I  looked  forward  to  the  night,  although  I  knew 
the  little  woman  would  not  appear  to  me  again.  She 
never  did  appear  to  any  one  in  that  room  but  myself,  and 
she  never  came  to  me  after  that  Christmas  eve. 

Ah !  that  haunted  room !  No  phantom  ever  trod  upon 
that  floor  or  floated  in  the  air  but  the  fleeting  phantom 
of  my  own  early  dreams.  No  ghost  ever  haunted  that 
room  overlooking  the  kitchen  roof  other  than  the  ghost 


What  Shall  She  Do?  145 

of  my  own  childhood,  the  ghost  of  my  early  manhood,  the 
ghost  of  my  own  airy  dreams.  Many  a  time  have  I  pur- 
sued the  phantom,  always  following,  never  reaching, 
never  holding,  never  with  these  man's  steps  to  overtake  it, 
never  with  these  man's  hands  to  grasp  it,  never  with 
this  man's  heart  to  inclose  it.  And  for  the  ten  nights 
I  followed  it,  followed  with  more  earnest  desire, 
and  with  stronger  outstretched  hands  than  when  a 
boy,  yet  only  for  a  second  time  to  find  it  as  before  in 
boyhood — only  a  shadow  never  to  be  realized. 

Ah,  well!  How  much  is  left  after  five  years  of  love 
and  ten  of  wandering — coming  back  to  find  love  gone — 
for  the  man  of  forty  to  follow  but  phantoms. 


III. 

THE  QUESTION. 

My  life  has  been  somewhat  of  a  bohemian  one,  I  must 
confess,  and  consequently  I  have  met  a  great  many  dif- 
ferent classes  of  people.  Just  why  it  is  that  I  never  could 
remain  long  in  a  place  has  always  been  a  mystery  to  me 
never  fathomed.  In  the  few  years  of  my  life  (I  do  not 
want  to  make  myself  out  an  old  man)  the  press  from 
Maine  to  California  has  become  familiar  to  me,  and  many 
are  the  offices  which  have  known  me  for  a  day  and  for- 
gotten me  the  next.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  my 
story. 


146  What  Shall  She  Do? 

In  all  my  wanderings  I  never  met  with  but  one  woman 

who  embodied  all  the  graces  which  I  had  in  my  mind 
ascribed  to  the  fictitious  person  who  should  at  some  time 
be  my  wife.  But  while  in  St.  Louis  on  the  Globe-Demo- 
crat  I  met  a  lady  who  interested  me  strangely.  She  was 
married,  and  that,  of  course,  placed  her  beyond  my  reach, 
although  she  was  such  a  one  as  I  would  have  desired 
as  a  wife. 

I  was  introduced  to  her  three  years  before  I  went  to 
Kansas  City,  and  in  these  three  years  was  so  far  favored 
as  to  become  an  adopted  son  in  the  family  and  to  be  al- 
lowed to  call  this  woman  mother.  Yet  she  was  scarce 
ten  years  older  than  myself. 

I  wish  I  could  describe  her  better,  for,  as  I  have  said, 
she  was  to  me  the  embodiment  of  all  that  was  womanly. 
Cold  and  reserved,  she  allowed  no  one  to  be  familiar  and 
she  had  no  intimate  friends,  though  many  adored  her. 
She  was  cold  and  reserved,  and  yet  I  have  known  her 
to  be  very  tender  to  a  poor  sick  person  or  one  in  distress. 
Then  she  was  small,  and  had  a  face  which  once  seen 
would  be  remembered  by  its  proud,  aristocratic  look.  She 
was  a  little  autocrat.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I,  bohemian 
that  I  am,  loved  her. 

One  evening  after  my  reports  had  been  sent  to  To- 
peka,  and  I  was  busily  engaged  upon  a  news  letter  which 
was  to  be  sent  by  the  ten  o'clock  mail,  a  man  nearly  forty 
years  of  age  entered  my  office  and  inquired  if  I  was  the 
Capital  reporter.  I  replied  in  the  affirmative,  with  my 
usual  agreeable  advertising  smile,  and  asked  what  I  could 


What  Shall  She  Do?  147 

do  for  him.  In  reply  he  drew  a  chair  up  to  my  desk  and 
asked : 

*'Are  not  you  the  gentleman  who  recently  sent  a  paper 
headed  'The  Haunted  House'  to  the  Capital?" 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"I  am  the  writer  of  it,  and  for  a  year  have  been  anxious 
to  have  it  published  in  a  Missouri  paper.  Six  months 
ago  I  left  it  with  the  editor  of  the  Kansas  City  Times,  but 
by  some  strange  fate  it  has  fallen  into  your  hands  and 
you  have  done  me  the  favor  of  publishing  it.  I  now  wish 
to  ask  an  additional  favor.  If  you  ever  hear  any  inquiries 
for  the  author  will  you  please  notify  me."  And  he  laid 
a  card  on  the  desk  before  me,  and  then  after  a  few  re- 
marks and  adieus  departed.  I  looked  at  the  card.  It 
bore  the  commonplace  name  of  John  Warrington,  with 
the  address.  Palmer  House,  Chicago: 

A  few  weeks  after  John  Warrington's  visit  I  took  a 
trip  to  St.  Louis,  and,  of  course,  stopped  with  my  little 
mother.  She,  too,  had  read  the  story  of  "The  Haunted 
House,"  for  I  sent  her  the  Capital  daily,  as  became  an 
affectionate  son.  To  my  surprise  she  was  very  curious 
about  it  and  asked  me  innumerable  questions,  among 
them  the  author's  name.  And  then  she  took  me  into  her 
confidence  and  told  me. 

'Taul,  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  I  did  not  love  my 
husband  ?" 

I  confessed  that,  viewing  her  well  ordered  house,  it 
never  had. 


148  What  Shall  She  Do? 

"And  yet  it  is  true,"  she  went  on.  *^You  think  me 
cold,  and  I  am,  but  you  have  never  thought  that  it  was 
studied  coldness,  a  coldness  which  was  not  natural  to  me. 
And  you  think  I  am  happy!  Well,  so  I  have  been,  in  a 
measure.  But  what  will  it  be  now?  You  are  my  boy, 
and  I  can  tell  you  what  I  am  thinking  to-night.  I  would 
give  all  my  life  for  one  day  of  fifteen  years  ago.  When 
I  was  a  girl  I  loved  a  young  man,  but  he  was  wealthy 
and  I  poor,  and  his  parents  managed  to  separate  us.  We 
were  engaged  at  the  time.  No  harsh  means  were  used — 
we  were  simply  parted. 

"I  lived  in  the  neighborhood  for  several  years  and  then 
came  West  and  married.  Why  did  I  marry  ?  When  you 
are  older  you  will  understand  better,  perhaps.  It  is  wo- 
man's nature,  her  fate  to  marry.  Some  do  not?  Yes,  I 
know  it,  but  that  very  fact  sets  them  up  as  guide  boards 
pointing  young  girls  to  matrimony. 

"When  John  did  not  return  and  I  heard  nothing  from 
him,  I  at  last  began  to  think  that  he  had  forgotten  me. 
That  was  a  hard  time,  Paul.  Life  seemed  worth  very 
little.  Then  I  met  my  husband,  and  he  was  kind  and 
good,  and  I  thought  at  last  that  I  might  grow  to  love 
him.  At  least  there  would  be  a  deep  respect  which  would 
make  life  bearable,  and  I  wanted  some  one  for  my  own. 
So  we  were  married,  and  our  life  has  been  happy,  or 
rather  peaceful.  But  I  have  never  loved  him  and  he 
knows  it.  I  am  sorry,  oh !  so  sorry  for  him.  We  have 
often  talked  it  over,  and,  Paul,  he  is  very  good  to  me.  I 
do  love  him  in  a  manner. 


WHat  Shall  She  Do?  149 

"Now  comes  that  story  in  the  Capital.  I  knew  it  at 
once.  The  picture  of  the  old  house  is  perfect,  and  the 
story  is  quite  Hke  John.  He  never  could  be  solemn  for 
any  length  of  time,  but  was  always  running  off  into  some 
extravagance.  But  under  all  the  lightness  there  is  a  sad 
strain,  the  sketch  of  his  life  and  mine  before  we  were 
separated.  And  do  you  know,  Paul,  I  believe  that  he 
wrote  that  story  for  me,  so  that  if  I  should  read  it,  I 
should  at  least  know  that  he  loved  me  all  these  years.  I 
wonder  what  he  looks  like  now  ?" 

And  then  I  told  her  all  about  John  Warrington's  visit 
and  his  appearance. 

And  so  the  fantastic  tale  I  had  resurrected  from  my 
old  desk  in  the  branch  office  was  the  story  of  my  little 
mother's  love.  And  she  was  not  happy!  These  two 
thoughts  clung  to  me  with  persistence  as  I  went  my  daily 
rounds.  That  there  was  a  pain  in  them  for  me  I  cannot 
deny,  but  perhaps  my  story  has  been  so  poorly  told  al- 
ready that  there  is  no  need  of  the  confession. 

What  was  best  for  me  to  do?  The  question  bothered 
me  for  days,  and  then  I  wrote  to  John  Warrington.  It 
was  not  a  week  until  he  called  upon  me — at  evening,  when 
I  always  had  the  office  to  myself,  and  that  night  he,  as 
had  my  little  mother,  told  me  the  story  of  his  life  and 
hers. 

Years  before,  when  he  was  young,  he  had  loved  her, 
but  they  had  separated.  He  was  given  an  appointment 
the  other  side  of  the  world,  and  although  he  wrote  fre- 


I50  What  Shall  She  Do? 

quently  he  never  heard  again  from  his  lady  love.  Years 
passed,  and  he  had  concluded  that  she  had  forgotten. 
Then  he  came  back  and  visited  the  old  home  to  find  it 
gone  to  decay  and  rendered  uncanny  by  the  story  that  it 
was  haunted.  He  fitted  up  the  little  back  room  that  had 
once  been  his  when  a  boy  and  there  passed  the  winter 
holidays.  During  those  weeks  he  was  haunted,  haunted 
by  sad  memories  which  clung  to  this  room  of  his  happy 
boyhood. 

There  he  had  lived  and  grown  to  manhood,  and  there, 
after  the  house  was  wrapped  in  slumber,  he  had  tossed 
upon  his  bed,  as  most  of  us  have  done  some  time  or  other, 
and  run  over  in  his  mind  the  day's  work,  how  he  had 
passed  a  sweet  afternoon  with  his  love,  his  visit  to  the 
little  school-house,  their  rambles  through  the  woods,  and 
afterward  of  his  days  in  the  city  counting  room.  Now 
that  he  had  come  back  to  the  place  after  ten  years  exile, 
each  night  brought  to  him  a  review  of  those  days. 

The  story  of  the  house  being  haunted  gave  the  idea  for 
his  story.  Yet  even  here,  where  he  should  have  been  pa- 
thetic, he  must  needs  be  ridiculous.  He  himself  told  me 
that  he  knew  that  if  "Nellie"  should  see  it  she  would  un- 
derstand, as  for  anyone  else  he  did  not  care.  There  are 
such  persons — I  have  often  met  them — who  cannot  speak 
of  their  private  feelings  in  any  other  than  a  light  manner 
for  fear  of  ridicule,  and  can  we  blame  an  old  bachelor  for 
his  little  crochets?  So  he  tried  to  make  the  story  comic. 
Ah !  well,  old  man,  you  may  sneer,  but  I  knew  from  the 
first  that  last  paragraph  came  from  the  heart  which  treas- 


What  Shall  She  Do?  151 

ured  the  love  of  that  country  school  ma'am  as  sacredly 
then  as  it  did  ten  years  before. 

And  the  little  woman? 

He  returned,  believing  that  she  had  forgotten  and  had 
learned  to  love  another.  He  heard  that  she  had  gone 
West  and  had  married,  and  he  took  this  means  of  finding 
her,  or  at  least  letting  her  hear  from  him.  He  confessed 
to  me  that  night  that  he  had  secretly  hoped  to  find  the 
report  of  her  marriage  untrue. 

And  now  he  had  found  her,  and  she  loved  him.  But 
she  was  a  wife.  The  wife  of  a  man  she  had  never  loved, 
and  the  old  love  was  tugging  at  her  heart. 

What  were  they  to  do  ? 

That  was  the  question  he  put  to  me  that  night.  I  went 
to  a  Catholic  priest  and  laid  the  story  before  him,  omit- 
ting the  later  developments  since  the  lover's  return.  His 
answer  came  clear  and  decidedly. 

"Marriage  is  a  sacrament,  not  a  legal  contract,  and  if 
she  did  not  love  her  husband  the  sacrament  was  void." 

"What  shall  she  do?" 

"Renew  her  vows  privately,  or  leave  her  husband." 

"But  she  does  not  now  love  her  husband!  Shall  she 
secure  a  divorce  and  marry  her  lover?" 

"N6."      ■ 

Such  was  the  decree  of  the  church.  I  gave  it  to  the 
lover. 

To  him  and  to  you  I  leave  it.     "What  shall  she  do?" 


A   Medical   Student's   Love, 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


A  MEDICAL  STUDENT'S  LOVE. 


How  Clarence  Bradford  ever  came  to  win  the  wife  he 
did  had  always  been  a  mystery  to  me.  He  was  a  country 
boy  of  fair  ability  when  he  came  to  St.  Louis  to  study 
medicine,  but  there  was  nothing  brilliant  to  distinguish 
him  from  a  score  of  other  students.  His  wife,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  been  one  of  the  society  buds  of  the  city, 
the  daughter  of  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  proudest  men 
in  St.  Louis,  and  how  Bradford  ever  had  a  chance  to  win 
her  I  could  not  understand. 

When  I  first  met  him,  however,  they  had  been  married 
several  years,  and  he  was  on  the  road  to  a  reputation  as  a 
physician.  At  first  I  did  not  know  of  his  early  poverty, 
but  one  evening  after  we  had  been  acquainted  for  a  year 
or  more  he  told  me  something  of  his  struggles  to  secure 
an  education,  and  that  set  me  to  wondering  about  his 
wife. 

But  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  spoke  to  me  about 
her,  and  when  he  did  it  was  while  driving  home  from 
the  medical  college  in  which  he  had  graduated  and  in 
which  he  was  now  delivering  lectures. 

He  did  not  look  or  act  like  himself  that  day,  and  as 


156  A  Medical  Student's  Love. 

we  drove  home  he  told  me  why.  Strange  as  such  a  con- 
fession would  seem,  coming  from  such  an  experienced 
physician,  he  had  been  unnerved  by  the  sight  of  the  body 
of  a  young  woman  on  the  dissecting  table. 

"Come  in  to  dinner/'  he  said,  as  the  carriage  drew  up 
at  his  home,  "and  afterward  we  will  go  into  the  office  and 
I  will  tell  you  why  no  amount  of  experience  can  accustom 
me  to  the  dissecting  table  when  the  subject  is  a  young 
woman.'' 

I  accepted  the  invitation,  and  after  a  dinner  served  in 
irreproachable  style  we  shut  ourselves  in  his  office,  or 
rather  his  study,  for  he  had  a  downtown  office,  and  while 
smoking  our  after-dinner  cigars  he  told  me  the  story  of 
his  life.  I  say  of  his  life  because  the  winning  of  his  wife 
was  the  turning  point  in  it. 

"I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  have  often  wondered 
how  I,  a  poor  medical  student,  came  to  marry  the  daugh- 
ter of  Henry  Arnold,"  he  began. 

I  nodded  assent,  and  he  continued: 

"The  story  is  a  queer  one,  and  if  I  were  not  able  to 
give  unimpeachable  testimony  to  its  truthfulness  I  would 
not  dare  tell  it,  even  to  you,  so  certain  am  I  that  most 
people  would  set  me  down  as  an  Ananias. 

"The  first  year  that  I  was  in  the  medical  college  I  se- 
cured a  position  as  nurse  in  one  of  the  hospitals,  both  for 
the  training  it  would  give  me  and  for  the  money  it  would 
bring  in. 

"It  was  there  that  I  first  saw  Edith.  She  came  regu- 
larly to  bring  flowers  to  the  patients,  and  we  always  ex- 


A  Medical  Student's  Love.  157 

changed  a  few  words.  She  was  so  kind,  so  sweet,  so 
gentle  with  the  sick,  that  no  one  seeing  her  going  from 
cot  to  cot  could  help  admiring  her. 

"I  did  more.    I  loved  her. 

"But,  as  you  may  imagine,  any  hope  of  making  her  my 
wife  was  out  of  the  question.  It  was  condescension 
enough  for  the  daughter  of  the  wealthy  Arnold  to  visit 
the  sick  in  a  public  hospital.  It  would  have  been  mad- 
ness to  have  thought  for  a  moment  that  she  would  be- 
come the  wife  of  a  penniless  medical  student  whom  she 
found  there." 

"I  am  surprised  that  she  did  even  that  much,"  I  re- 
marked as  he  paused  in  his  narrative,  as  if  the  recollec- 
tion of  those  days  was  too  pleasant  to  be  passed  over 
hastily.  "Wealthy  girls  are  not  in  the  habit  of  carrying 
flowers  to  the  hospitals." 

"That  is  true,"  he  replied,  with  a  mingling  of  pride  and 
love  in  his  voice,  "but  my  wife  is  an  exceptional  woman. 

"After  several  months,"  he  continued,  "she  failed  one 
week  to  pay  her  customary  visit,  and  I  was  wretched. 
The  next  week  she  did  not  appear,  and  then  I  made  in- 
quiries concerning  her. 

"She  was  very  ill,  and  ten  days  later  I  heard  that  she 
was  dead.  The  day  after  I  attended  her  funeral,  fol- 
lowed the  body  to  the  cemetery  and  saw  it  interred  in 
the  family  vault. 

"I  should  have  told  you  that  for  several  years  I  had 
been  interested  in  telepathy  and  kindred  subjects.  You 
know  I  was  quite  old  when  I  entered  the  medical  school — 


158  A  Medical  Student's  Love. 

was  twenty-five  during  the  first  term.  These  studies  had 
resulted  in  my  becoming  a  firm  believer  in  the  theory  that 
one  mind  can  influence  another,  no  matter  how  great  the 
distance. 

"The  night  after  the  funeral  of  Edith  I  went  to  my 
room  and  sat  down  to  make  an  experiment  wilder  and 
weirder  than  any  I  had  ever  read. 

"It  was  an  attempt  to  bring  to  me,  by  the  exercise  of 
my  will  power,  the  spirit  of  my  loved  one,  if  such  a  thing 
were  possible.  In  life  we  had  been  immeasurably  di- 
vided, but  in  that  new  world  to  which  she  had  gone  the 
conditions  which  had  bound  us  would  no  longer  exist; 
she  would  know  that  I  loved  her,  and,  at  least,  would 
not  be  angry,  even  if  she  cared  nothing  for  me.  So  I 
reasoned. 

"Now  you  are  thinking  of  me  as  a  spiritualist,  but  I 
am  not  and  never  was.  I  am  simply  a  firm  believer  in  the 
power  of  mind  over  mind — and  matter.  And  that  night 
I  merely  desired  to  bring  into  play  the  principles  that 
would  have  been  used  in  working  upon  a  living  person. 
If  I  could  influence  one  in  the  flesh,  why  could  I  not 
influence  one  who  would  be  more  sensitive  because  freed 
from  the  body? 

"The  first  thing  to  be  done  in  my  experiment  was  to 
find  my  loved  one's  soul.  I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and 
began  a  mental  search,  but  it  seemed  as  if  my  mind  was 
strangely  refractory-.  I  could  not  keep  it  from  the  sad 
events  of  the  day.  Again  I  saw  the  coffin  in  the  church 
as  the  burial  service  was  sung,  and  followed  it  step  by 


A  Medical  Student's  Love.  •  159 

step  to  the  cemetery  and  the  vault.  I  believe  now  that 
I  must  have  been  in  some  kind  of  a  cataleptic  state  at  the 
time,  but  I  did  not  realize  it  then. 

"The  whole  funeral  passed  before  me  in  as  vivid  a 
manner  as  if  I  were  witnessing  it  again. 

*'But  I  was  not  entirely  discouraged  with  the  experi- 
ment, for  I  thought  perhaps  to  find  the  spirit  of  Edith,  it 
might  not  be  amiss  to  follow  her  dear  body. 

"For,  who  knows  ?  It  might  be  true,  as  ancient  legends 
tell  us,  that  the  soul  lingers  around  its  cast-off  tenement 
for  a  time.  You  know  this  belief  was  the  origin  of  drap- 
ing public  buildings  for  thirty  days,  the  length  of  time 
the  Jews  used  to  believe  the  spirit  remained  near  its 
earthly  home  before  taking  its  flight  into  the  great  un- 
known world  of  space. 

"There  is  also  another  Jewish  legend  to  the  effect  that 
the  soul  hovers  near  the  grave  in  which  its  body  is  in- 
terred for  a  space  of  three  days. 

"I  was  conversant  with  all  these  old  legends,  and  as 
no  effort  to  turn  my  mind  in  another  direction  was  ef- 
fective, I  let  it  go. 

"If  Edith  were  out  somewhere  in  the  wide  universe, 
away  from  earth,  but  would  in  time  prove  susceptible  to 
my  call,  it  made  no  difference  how  far  or  how  near  she 
might  be.  If  I  kept  my  mind  fixed  on  her  I  would  find 
her.  And  if  this  should  prove  impossible,  what  was  bet- 
ter than  remaining  in  thought  close  to  all  that  was  left 
of  her  on  the  earth  ? 

"I  had  been  in  this  condition  for  several  hours  when 


i6o  A  Medical  Student^s  Love. 

suddenly  the  vault  and  the  coffin  burst  open,  as  if  a  bril- 
liant gleam  of  sunshine  had  broken  the  bars  of  death,  and 
I  saw  her  body  as  plainly  as  I  now  see  you.  Walls  of 
rock  and  doors  of  iron  were  no  barrier,  and  as  I  looked 
upon  the  form  I  loved,  the  realization  came  that  this 
vision  of  my  lost  love  was  not  a  waking  dream. 

"And  then  a  great  hope  flashed  up. 

"What  if  I  had  found  Edith's  soul,  and  it  was  still 
lingering  around  her  body?  Then  I  could  draw  her  to 
me  and  tell  her  that  I  loved  her. 

"But  that  very  moment  the  vision  faded,  and,  try  as  I 
might,  it  was  but  groping  in  the  dark  to  attempt  to  find 
her.  I  could  not  recall  the  vision.  Happy  even  in  its 
sadness,  nevertheless  it  was  gone!  I  confess  that  there 
was  a  loneliness  about  it  that  I  never  want  to  experience 
again. 

"Still  I  could  not  resist  the  belief  that  for  a  few  minutes 
I  had  established  a  communication  with  Edith.  That 
seemed  a  fact  not  to  be  disputed.    But — I  had  lost  her. 

"As  you  may  imagine,  I  did  not  give  up  my  search. 
What  lover  would? 

"I  continued  to  keep  my  mind  fixed  on  her  in  the  hope 
that  she  might  again  appear  and  that  I  might  draw  her 
spirit  into  converse  with  mine. 

"And  at  last  I  succeeded.  But  where,  and  under  what 
circumstances,  do  you  suppose? 

"I  saw  her  body  in  a  light  covered  wagon  driven  rap- 
idly along  the  streets  of  the  city.  As  I  followed,  the  way 
became  familiar  and  I  saw  that  she  was  being  taken  to 


A  Medical  Student's  Love.  i6i 

the  college  I  was  attending.  And  when  the  wagon 
stopped  I  saw  her  lifted  from  it  and  borne  up  to  the  dis- 
secting room. 

''Then  it  seemed  as  if  she  called  my  name. 

"You  can  guess  what  I  did.  Within  half  an  hour  I 
was  climbing  the  stairs  to  the  dissecting  room.  A  white- 
covered  body  was  lying  upon  a  table  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  the  professor  and  one  or  two  students  were 
standing  near. 

"I  hastened  up  to  the  silent  figure  and  drew  down  the 
sheet  from  the  face.     It  was  Edith. 

"I  called  the  professor  to  one  side  and  informed  him 
whose  body  it  was,  and  could  see  that  he  was  not  only 
surprised  but  shocked,  as  he  had  no  idea  where  the  men 
engaged  for  the  purpose  had  secured  his  'subject.' 

"Very  quickly  I  added  that  I  had  reason  for  believing 
that  life  had  not  yet  left  the  body,  and  while  confessing 
to  be  unable  to  give  him  any  reason  which  might  prove 
satisfactory,  begged  him  to  send  the  other  students  away 
and  make  an  experiment.  I  was  so  much  in  earnest  that 
he  consented. 

"When  we  were  alone  with  *my  dead,'  as  I  fondly 
thought  of  it  in  that  moment,  he  said : 

"  'We  will  try  blood  letting.  If  there  is  any  life  in 
the  body,  as  you  think,  she  may  regain  consciousness — 
that  is,  if  there  is  any  blood  to  let,'  he  added,  the  profes- 
sional side  of  his  character  coming  uppermost. 

"He  took  his  dissecting  knife  and  made  an  incision  in 
the  arm. 


i62  A  Medical  Student^s  Love. 

"Blood  did  flow  and  Edith  returned  to  life  and  we  took 
her  home  to  her  parents. 

''But  when  she  first  regained  consciousness  she  reached 
out  her  arms  to  me  and  said : 

"  'I  knew  you  would  come,  for  I  saw  you  and  called  to 
you.     I  knew  you  were  searching  for  me.' 

''And  after  that  there  was  no  question  but  that  she 
would  be  my  wife." 


Written   in  Water. 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


WRITTEN  IN  WATER. 


Once  upon  a  time,  it  may  or  may  not  have  been  a 
long  time  ago,  a  fair  young  girl  came  to  an  old  country 
house  in  which  dwelt  a  philosopher  and  author.  Whether 
or  no  he  could,  as  yet,  lay  just  claims  to  the  latter  name 
there  might  be  a  difference  of  opinion,  but  he  was  most 
certainly  the  first,  if  conscientious  study  and  a  well  bal- 
anced mind  make  one  a  philosopher.  But,  although  a 
philosopher  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  he  was  not 
an  old  man. 

Ten  years  at  the  university,  three  in  Germany,  two  in 
travel  and  then  five  in  study  in  his  old  home  were  all  that 
had  passed  since  Gerald  Leslie  first  left  that  home,  a 
bright,  merry  school-boy. 

He  owned  houses  and  lands  and  bonds,  and  so  he  could 
afford  to  bury  himself  in  the  large  old  farm-house,  there 
to  pursue  those  studies  in  which  he  took  greatest  delight 
and  labor,  upon  the  great  work  that  was  to  make  his 
name  famous  through  all  time.  Whether  he  was  an 
author  or  not  an  author  was  to  rest  upon  this  work.  For 
all  these  years  he  had  thought  of  nothing  else,  written 
nothing  else,  save  now  and  then  a  stray  article  for  some 
review. 


i66  Written  in  Water. 

His  life  in  the  last  five  years  had  been  a  quiet  one,  for, 
besides  a  young  giant  who  served  him,  his  household  was 
restricted  to  an  elder  sister  and  her  little  girl. 

And  now,  this  day  of  which  I  write,  the  quiet  life  was 
to  be  interrupted  by  the  advent  of  the  fair  young  girl.  A 
month  before,  Gerald  had  received  a  letter  from  an  elderly 
friend  to  whom  he  was  bound  by  many  ties,  and  in  it 
were  these  words:  "I  am  dying,  Gerald,  dying;  but  I 
know  that  you  will  give  a  home  to  my  motherless  Gracie." 

For  Victor  Shirlaw  to  make  this  request  was  the  same 
to  Leslie  as  if  he  had  promised  to  look  after  his  friend's 
child,  and  he  accepted  the  trust  with  a  purpose  which  was 
as  solemn  as  a  vow,  and  would  be  as  religiously  fulfilled. 

The  day  was  wet  and  disagreeable,  and  as  Leslie's 
servant  entered  to  announce  that  it  was  time  to  drive  to 
the  station  for  Miss  Shirlaw,  the  former  shivered  in  the 
raw  air  that  came  in  by  the  open  door  and  looked  with 
but  ill-concealed  envy  at  the  burly  form  before  him. 

A  man  so  strong  and  firm,  so  perfect  in  health,  the  em- 
bodiment of  good  nature,  a  man  able  to  stem  the  storms 
and  make  his  way  in  the  world,  while  he,  Gerald,  shud- 
dered at  the  faintest  draught  of  chill  air !  And  yet  this 
man  was  unlettered,  could  read  neither  Greek  nor  He- 
brew, knew  nothing  of  philosophy,  nay,  even  so  little  of 
his  own  language  that  he  could  not  have  legibly  copied 
a  page  of  the  philosopher's  researches.  And  yet  Leslie 
looked  upon  him  with  ill-concealed  jealousy. 

"You  must  not  go,  Mr.  Leslie,  indeed,  you  must  not," 
said  the  brawny  man  as  Gerald  made  a  feint  of  rising. 


Written  in  Water.  167 

The  latter  again  cast  a  jealous  look  at  his  servant. 
Was  this  man,  who  knew  nothing  of  science,  art  or  litera- 
ture, his  superior?  A  great  soul  had  Gerald,  but  it  was 
annoyed  by  having  been  cast  in  such  a  puny  body,  while 
this  great  hulk  held  only  a  common  soul  that  knew  noth- 
ing beyond  the  confines  of  the  farm  and  the  road  to  the 
station. 

Gerald  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  allowed  the  man  to 
go  upon  his  errand  alone,  and  all  during  the  time  the 
latter  was  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  little  station,  two 
miles  away,  Leslie  remained  where  he  had  seated  him- 
self, indulging  in  a  reverie. 

*'Is  he  greater  than  I  ?"-  he  asked  himself.  "Pshaw ! 
Why  should  I  think  of  it.  Is  not  the  brain  the  ruler  of 
the  body?  And  he  has  no  brain.  Shall  I,  wealthy  and 
educated,  become  jealous  of  a  common  farmer  who  hap- 
pens to  have  muscle  and  health?" 

The  reader  must  not  infer  from  this  that  Gerald  was  of 
an  envious  disposition.  Among  his  equals  he  was  ever 
genial  and  ready  to  applaud  or  help,  and  with  his  inferiors 
he  was  the  most  courteous  of  men.  But  of  late  he  had 
become  envious  of  this  faithful  John  Brent's  superior 
health.  It  was  not  a  little  hate,  nor  the  jealousy  of  a 
small  soul.  It  was  rather  the  chafing  of  a  strong  spirit 
in  a  frail  body,  because  a  less  learned  soul  possessed  one 
capable  of  more  endurance.     He  loved  John. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Leslie." 

The  voice  startled  him  from  his  reverie.  The  early 
winter  evening  was  approaching  and  the  library  was 


1 68  Written  in  Water. 

lighted  only  by  the  last  rays  of  the  autumn  sun  and  by  the 
fitful  gleams  of  the  fire  in  the  grate.  Turning  his  head, 
he  saw,  standing  in  the  bright  glow  of  the  evening  sun, 
the  "fair  girl"  who  had  come  to  interrupt  his  quiet  life. 
He  arose  and  offered  his  hand  to  Gracie,  and  after  a  few 
words  of  welcome  seated  her  in  an  easy  chair  opposite 
the  other  side  of  the  chimney.  While  listening  to  the 
story  of  her  journey  he  watched  her  face  closely. 

"She  is  a  fair  girl,"  he  said  to  himself.  "A  fair  girl, 
and  that  is  all." 

He  was  right.  Gracie  was  neither  beautiful  nor  hand- 
some— not  even  pretty.  But  she  was  fair  to  look  upon, 
and  a  certain  grace  made  her  fascinating.  And  there  was 
in  her  manner  something  that  said  in  later  years  she 
would  be  very  dignified. 

The  days  passed  quickly.  Leslie  was  engaged  upon 
his  great  work  and  Gracie  was  left  much  to  herself.  John 
Brent  proved  a  good  source  of  amusement,  and  the  two 
were  often  seen  together,  now  picking  apples  in  the 
orchard,  now  hauling  in  great  pumpkins  and  squashes 
and  storing  them  away  in  the  cellar.  Later  in  the  winter 
they  sat  before  the  great  fireplace  in  the  sitting-room, 
cracking  nuts,  roasting  apples  and  drinking  cider.  In 
these  bouts  John  told  her  many  a  queer  story  of  country 
life  she  had  been  unused  to. 

Still,  never  a  day  passed  but  that  she  was  with  Gerald 
for  an  hour  or  so.  She  would  have  stayed  longer  had 
she  not  thought  that  he  did  not  care  for  her  company. 
She  was  attracted  to  the  man  who  was  so  powerful  in 


Written  in  Water.  169 

mind,  and  had  he  given  her  a  little  encouragement,  shown 
her  somewhat  of  his  great  heart,  she  would  soon  have 
loved  him  so  passionately  that  she  could  have  given  up 
her  life  for  him  or  for  his  love. 

Women  love  strength,  whether  it  be  of  body  or  intel- 
lect, passion  or  will.  Gracie  was  attracted  to  Gerald  on 
account  of  his  strength  in  intellect  and  will.  Had  he 
only  showed  her  how  strong  he  could  be  in  love,  also,  he 
might  then  have  won  the  girl's  heart,  and  the  ending  of 
this  story  might  have  been  different.  Poor  man !  that  he 
did  not  know  a  woman's  heart  may  be  won  in  many  ways, 
and  that  she  quickly  learns  to  reverence  strength  of  mind 
as  much  as  strength  of  body. 

But  he  repulsed  her. 

Why,  I  cannot  say.  But  my  opinion  is  that  he  thought 
she  could  not  love  such  a  physical  wreck  as  he.  If  he 
had  only  known  that  he  might  have  won  her,  and  that 
she  would  have  followed  him  to  the  ends  of  the  world  and 
have  been  happy  only  to  be  with  him!  But  he  did  not 
know  it. 

So,  crossed  and  repelled  by  her  guardian,  she  became 
the  daily  companion  of  John  Brent.  Let  me  correct  a 
mistake  which  my  use  of  the  word  servant  has  doubtless 
led  the  reader  into.  John  Brent  was  not  a  servant,  as  we 
use  the  term  in  America.  He  was  a  man  who  belonged 
with  the  homestead.  His  father  had  been  there  before 
him,  and  his  grandfather  before  his  father.  He  had  lived 
there  all  his  life,  and  had  known  and  expected  to  know 
no    other   home.     He  served,    but  not  as  a  servant,    a 


170  Written  in  Water. 

hostler,  a  gardener,  or  a  man  of  all  work.  But  during 
Leslie's  absence  he  had  managed  the  affairs  of  the  estate, 
and  since  the  student's  return  had  scarcely  given  up  the 
reins.  He  was  Leslie's  aide-de-camp  and  took  his  mas- 
ter's orders.  He  was  his  private  secretary  and  assisted 
the  philosopher  in  the  library.  He  was  such  a  man  as 
Bunner  depicts  in  Zadoc  Pine,  only  with  more  refinement. 

And  so  the  winter  months  grew  on  apace.  Each  day 
Gracie  passed  a  longer  or  shorter  time  with  Gerald,  and 
each  day  he  repelled  her  more  and  more.  Each  day  he 
loved  her  more,  but  each  day  he  concealed  his  passion. 
And  each  day  she  left  Gerald's  coldness  for  John  Brent's 
hearty  kindliness  and  found — not  what  she  sought — ^but 
warmth  and  home  life. 

And  yet  Gerald  tried  to  win  her,  in  his  own  way.  But 
in  this,  as  in  many  a  case,  the  man's  way  was  not  the 
woman's  way.  He  loved  her.  She  wished  to  love  him, 
but  his  own  actions  drove  her  away  from  him. 

But  John's  courtship,  if,  indeed,  he  meant  it  to  be  court- 
ship, was  entirely  different.  He  let  the  girl  follow  her 
own  sweet  will.  She  might  drive  to  the  station  with  him 
or  help  him  in  marking  out  the  great  snow  paths  from 
house  to  road ;  she  might  come  to  him  when  she  chose  or 
leave  him  when  she  was  weary.  He  let  her  come  and 
go,  work  or  ride,  as  she  pleased.  Whatever  she  wished 
was  hers,  and  in  him  she  always  found  welcome  and 
friendship. 

At  length,  however,  the  passion  in  Gerald's  heart  be- 
came so  strong  that  it  could  not  be  repressed,  and  he 


Written  in  Water.  171 

decided  to  at  least  try  to  win  the  girl  for  his  wife.  That 
was  late  in  December. 

On  Christmas  eve  he  looked  out  of  his  library  window 
and  saw  Gracie,  his  Gracie,  coming  up  the  snow-banked 
walk  with  John  Brent's  arm  around  her. 

I  can  conceive  of  but  one  worse  agony  to  be  felt,  and 
that  is  for  a  husband  to  see  his  wife  in  another  man's 
arms.  Monasteries  have  been  filled  from  these  two 
causes. 

What  Leslie  suffered  that  night  no  mortal  ever  knew. 
But  the  struggle  with  his  own  passions  and  sense  of 
honor  left  him  so  haggard  that  faithful  John  Brent  was 
moved  to  say  when  he  saw  him  the  next  morning: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Leslie,  you  must  stop  this  late  night  work. 
It  will  kill  you.  Stop  it.  Go  away  for  a  rest,  or  stop 
work  and  let  us  nurse  you  back  to  health." 

The  words  were  kindly  spoken,  kindly  meant,  and 
Leslie  knew  it,  but  despite  his  night's  struggle  and  his 
resolution  to  be  honorable  he  could  not  help  feeling  that 
beneath  the  kindness  there  was  a  hidden  comparison  be- 
tween the  young  giant's  superior  strength  and  his  own 
weakness.     So  he  answered,  stiffly : 

"When  I  have  need  of  your  advice  I  will  ask  for  it. 
Please  ask  Mary  to  bring  in  my  coffee." 

The  giant  departed  without  a  word. 

Leslie  had,  in  the  lonely  night  watches,  given  up  his 
love,  but  he  was  not  yet  ready  to  yield  up  that  which  had 
of  late  become  his  spectre,  his  mania.  He  saw,  or  be- 
lieved, that  the  strength  of  body  which  he  had  so  envied 


172  Written  in  Water. 

had  won  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  and  he  did  not  like 
to  acknowledge  to  the  victor  that  he  was  weak.  Why, 
was  he  not  the  superior  of  all  whom  he  had  met  in  the 
mental  arena  ?  Was  not  his  intellect  as  keen  as  man's  in- 
tellect ever  becomes?  And  had  he  not  nearly  completed 
the  great  work  which  would  move  the  whole  thinking 
world?  Was  he  to  count  himself  inferior  to  a  man  who 
knew  only  how  to  manage  a  farm? 

Filled  with  these  moody  thoughts,  after  breakfast  he 
essayed  to  walk  out  into  the  cold  but  to  a  stronger  man 
bracing  air,  and  went  out  upon  the  porch,  which  ran 
the  full  length  of  the  front  of  the  mansion.  From  it  he 
stepped  cautiously  to  the  walk  which  led  down,  betweefi 
ice  and  snow  laden  pine  trees,  to  the  road.  Faithful  John 
followed,  quietly  and  unseen,  with  Gracie  by  his  side.  A 
rod  from  the  house  there  stood  a  great  native  elm  tree, 
which  had  grown  close  to  the  walk  and  had  never  been 
removed,  although  all  the  other  trees  stood  in  straight 
rows,  several  feet  farther  back,  on  each  side.  It  was  the 
only  obstruction  in  the  great  avenue  from  road  to  house. 
When  Gerald  reached  this  he  felt  his  strength  beginning 
to  leave  him  and  leaned  against  it  to  rest.  A  moment 
later,  and  a  small  drop  of  purple  fell  from  his  lips  to  his 
coat.  He  brushed  it  aside,  but  his  limbs  began  to  trem- 
ble. 

John's  love  could  no  longer  be  restrained.  He  ran 
forward  and  placed  his  arm  around  his  master.  Gerald 
looked  up  and  fiercely  exclaimed: 

"Will  you  leave  me  alone.     Cannot  I  have  a  moment's 


Written  in  Water.  173 

peace  ?  Can  I  not  even  take  a  walk  without  you  dogging 
my  steps?     Stand  back,  I  say." 

But  John  did  not  step  back. 

''Mr.  Leslie,"  he  said,  "you  are  ill.  Let  me  help  you 
to  the  house." 

What  reply  might  have  been  made  cannot  be  known, 
for  just  then,  as  Gerald  attempted  to  push  him  back,  a 
gush  of  blood  flowed  from  his  lips,  and  together  John 
and  Gracie  carried  the  student  and  recluse  to  his  room. 

One  night — it  was  Twelfth  night,  I  believe — Gerald 
was  very  ill  and  Gracie  was  attending  him.  He  had  been 
writing  during  the  day  upon  his  "great  work,"  and  had 
added  a  chapter  to  it.  But  toward  night  he  had  become 
restive,  had  walked  to  and  fro  across  his  library  floor, 
and  at  length  sank  back  exhausted  into  the  depths  of  an 
easy  chair  beside  his  study  table,  upon  which  were  ranged 
sinister  looking  volumes,  note  books,  blocks  of  paper  and 
the  last  pages  of  his  manuscript. 

As  the  early  winter  sunset  sent  its  last  tinted  rays  in  at 
the  western  window  and  upon  his  writing  table  he  said  to 
himself : 

"  'Written  in  water !'  One  once  told  me,  when  I  talked 
of  high  ambition,  that  men's  names,  who  had  such  high 
desires,  were  often  written  in  water.  We  were  at  the  sea- 
shore then  and  were  tracing  our  names  in  the  sand.  The 
tide  washed  them  away  half  an  hour  later.  He  said  that 
was  fame;  to  write  one's  name  upon  the  earth  and  have 
it  erased  before  an  hour  had  passed.  'But  how  many 
others,'  he  added,  'write  their  names  in  water,  this  is 


174  Written  in  Water. 

me/  and  he  went  forward  a  rod  and  with  his  cane  wrote 
his  name  in  the  rolHng  wave.  It  made  no  mark  even  for 
the  instant.  'This,'  he  said,  'is  what  many  of  us  will 
do.'     But  I  replied : 

"  'A  name  may  be  writ  in  water,  sand  or  granite,  and  I 
shall  choose  the  granite.' 

"  *Do  not  be  too  sure,'  he  said. 

"How  true  he  foretold  the  future.  In  water  it  has 
been  written,  for  I  am  the  last  of  my  family,  and  I,  the 
last  of  the  Leslies,  have  lost  the  woman  I  love.  No  son 
will  ever  be  born  to  keep  up  the  old  name. 

"And  my  book!  Well,  it  is  not  finished,  but  my  life 
nearly  is.  I  shall  never  live  to  write  the  last  page.  As 
far  as  fame  is  concerned,  my  name  has  been  written  in 
water.  It  has  left  no  mark  even  for  the  short  instant 
of  my  own  life." 

At  six  o'clock  John  Brent  brought  in  his  dinner,  but 
he  could  scarcely  touch  it.  At  seven,  Gracie  came  to  sit 
with  him. 

"Gracie,"  he  said,  "I  do  not  wish  to  leave  my  work- 
shop in  disorder  if — if — anything  should  happen.  There 
are  some  papers  upon  that  shelf — loose  papers,  you  will 
see.     Please  bring  them  to  me." 

Gracie  brought  them  to  him. 

"Yes,  these  are  the  ones — useless — I  want  them  de- 
stroyed.    Please  put  them  in  the  grate." 

Gracie  did  so. 

"Now,  these  few  I  have  been  scribbling  to-day.    They 


Written  in  Water.  175 

are  foolish,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  leave  them  behind  me. 
I  may  die,  you  know." 

'*Oh,  Gerald,  you  must  not,  you  shall  not  die.  Send 
for  a  physician,  or  go  south  or  to  California.  You  are 
ill,  but  do  not  give  up " 

But  he  interrupted  her. 

"Put  them  in  the  grate." 

And  Gracie  obeyed  him. 

They  were  no  sooner  cast  into  the  flames  than  John 
Brent  entered.  He  glanced  at  the  blazing  fire  and  then 
the  shelf  where  he  knew  the  manuscript  upon  which 
Gerald  had  labored  so  long  rested. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Leslie!  Oh,  Gracie!  What  have  you  done?" 
he  cried. 

"We  have  burned  some  useless  papers,"  Gerald  an- 
swered. 

"It  was  your  great  work — your  book." 

"My  great  work !  It  was  never  finished.  But  my  life 
is.     Both  have  been  'written  in  water.'  " 

I  do  not  think,  after  Leslie  died,  that  any  one,  save 
John,  ever  knew  truly  what  he  meant  by  those  words. 

At  least,  Gracie  never  did. 


That   Deceptive   Telegram. 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


THAT  DECEPTIVE  TELEGRAM. 


The  Rev.  Alfred  Brown,  rector  of  St.  Mark's,  Quincy, 
was  a  most  exemplary  man  and  husband.  He  did  his 
duties  as  a  priest,  and  loved  his  wife.  This  did  not  hinder 
Mrs.  Brown  from  being  insanely  jealous.  She  was  one 
of  those  uncomfortable  women  who  are  always  trying  to 
find  trouble  for  themselves  and  others.  As  an  article  of 
the  Athanasian  creed  she  added  what  was  not  generally 
recited — a  belief  in  the  absolute  depravity  of  mankind 
in  general  and  of  husbands  in  particular.  The  fact  that 
Mrs.  Brown  never  caught  her  husband  sinning  was  only 
the  more  of  an  incentive  for  watching  him  closely.  Be- 
cause he  was  always  good  and  open  and  loving,  she  put 
him  down  as  artful,  and,  behind  that,  she  had  a  shrewd 
tricky  man  to  deal  with.  And  this,  not  so  much  because 
she  was  spiteful  or  unhappy,  but  because  she  was  jealous 
of  him  and  of  his  reputation. 

One  reason  for  this  jealousy  may  have  been  that  she 
was  eleven  years  older  than  her  husband  and  of  a  plain 
complexion. 

She  would  never  allow  any  one  else  to  doubt  or  speak 
ill  of  him,  and  she  herself  would  not  do  the  latter  to  his 


i8o  That  Deceptive  Telegram. 

face.  But  she  held  it  as  her  divine  right  to  do  the 
former  and  keep  a  watch  over  him  on  the  quiet. 

Only  once  had  she  ever  been  able  to  secure  even  a  sus- 
picion of  her  husband.  He  had  once,  several  years  be- 
fore, shown  great  interest  in  a  girl  of  his  parish  who 
had  gone  to  the  bad.  No  one  else  ever  thought  of  the 
Rev.  Alfred  Brown  in  connection  with  her  disappearance, 
but  his  wife  decided  that  he  needed  watching. 

There  were  certain  seasons  of  the  year  when  Mrs. 
Brown's  jealousy  became  abnormally  active.  They  were 
in  the  spring  and  fall,  when  the  Bishop  of  Chicago  sum- 
moned his  clergy  to  meet  him  at  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  in 
solemn  semi-annual  conclave,  and  to  these  convocations 
the  Rev.  Alfred  Brown  was  wont  to  go,  although. not  a 
member  of  the  Chicago  diocese.  It  was  his  one  recrea- 
tion, and  they  always  asked  him  to  address  the  meet- 
ing. 

As  a  general  thing,  Mr.  Brown  took  his  wife  with  him 
on  these  occasions  and  the  couple  stopped  with  a  friend 
on  Cass  street,  near  St.  James.  But  in  the  spring  of  1888 
this  friend  was  obliged  to  take  a  trip  to  California  and 
Mr.  Brown  was  obliged  to  seek  quarters  elsewhere.  A 
bachelor  friend  hearing  of  his  difficulty  wrote  asking  him 
to  put  up  at  the  North  Side  Clubhouse  during  his  sojourn 
in  Chicago.  Mrs.  Brown  did  not  like  to  trust  her  hus- 
band among  a  lot  of  ungodly  club  men,  but  the  spirit  of 
economy  was  almost  as  strong  in  her  breast  as  was  the 
spirit  of  jealousy,  and  she  at  last  allowed  him  to  accept 
the  invitation.     Mr.  Brown  accepted  her  decision  with 


That  Deceptive  Telegram.  i8i 

a  species  of  chastened,  holy  joy,  which  filled  the  good 
lady's  soul  with  fears.  He  was  up  to  something-,  she 
knew.  An  incident  which  occurred  only  a  few  days  be- 
fore he  was  to  leave,  heightened  her  suspicions.  Her 
husband  came  in  one  morning  with  a  long  face  and  a  sol- 
emn tone  of  voice,  and  said : 

"My  dear,  I  have  just  heard  of  a  distressing  affair. 
Mary  Candee  has  run  away,  and  it  is  feared  that  she  has 
gone  to  marry  that  scapegrace  John  Smith,  who  is  con- 
nected with  a  saloon  in  Chicago.  I  feel  very  sorry  for 
her,  and  I  hope  that  I  may  run  across  her  while  attending 
the  spring  convocation.  If  so,  I  may  be  of  assistance  to 
her  or  her  husband." 

''Alfred,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown,  with  a  most  austere 
look,  ''if  you  speak  to  the  abandoned  creature  you  will 
degrade  yourself,  and  I  forbid  it." 

"Why,  my  dear,"  the  good  rector  replied,  "you  must  be 
beside  yourself.  It  is  my  duty  as  a  priest  of  the  church 
to  help  even  the  lowest.  Of  course  I  shall  do  all  that  I 
can  to  find  the  poor  girl  and  help  her  in  her  trouble." 

"Convocation,  indeed,"  Mrs.  Brown  said  to  herself, 
when  the  rector  had  departed  to  his  study.  "A  pretty 
convocation  it  will  be.  Why  couldn't  he  take  me  with 
him  instead  of  going  to  a  disreputable  bachelor  club- 
house? He  meant  to  meet  that  girl  all  the  time,  and  I 
haven't  a  doubt  but  that  he  wrote  to  that  old  curmudgeon 
and  asked  for  a  room  with  him  so  that  I  could  not  go 
along." 

On  Monday  of  the  next  week  the  rector  of  St.  Mark's 


i82  That  Deceptive  Telegram. 

departed  for  Chicago,  sent  on  his  way  with  the  kindly- 
wishes  of  the  whole  parish,  and  accompanied  by  his  senior 
warden  and  a  churchman  of  wealth  and  piety,  who  also 
wished  to  attend  the  ecclesiastical  meeting. 

No  sooner  was  he  gone  than  Mrs.  Brown  received  the 
means  of  verifying  her  suspicions.  Monday  afternoon 
the  carrier  brought  her  a  letter  from  an  old  school  friend 
asking  her  to  pass  a  week  or  so  at  her  home  in  Chicago. 
The  invitation  was  for  herself  and  husband,  but  she  knew 
she  could  give  a  good  excuse  for  going  alone,  and  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  as  a  godsend.  Besides,  her  friend 
was  the  wife  of  an  old  army  officer,  and  would  enjoy  hear- 
ing of  the  matrimonial  troubles  of  a  friend.  So  she  sent 
a  friendly  note  Tuesday  morning  accepting  the  invitation. 
The  letter  reached  Chicago  at  2.30  in  the  afternoon,  and 
just  as  Mrs.  Brown  was  sitting  down  to  tea  a  Western 
Union  messenger  brought  her  the  following  dispatch  : 

Charlie  is  away  for  months.  Called  suddenly.  Come 
at  once.    Am  dull.  Carrie  Brophy. 

Mrs.  Brown's  arrangements  were  soon  made,  as  they 
had  to  be  of  necessity,  for  the  convocation  was  to  last  only 
from  Wednesday  till  Thursday  of  the  next  week.  She 
packed  a  small  valise  and  took  the  night  train  for  Chicago, 
arriving  there  Wednesday  morning.  She  found  her  old 
friend  a  woman  who  troubled  her  husband  with  her  sanc- 
timonious airs.  He  was  an  easy-going  Episcopalian,  who 
believed  that  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  attend  church  occa- 
sionally and  talk  back  to  the  preacher  according  to  book, 


That  Deceptive  Telegram.  183 

while  she  was  a  Simon-pure  Baptist,  who  beheved  in  con- 
versions, baptism,  and  a  godly  life. 

Owing  to  the  diversity  in  their  ages,  the  wife  had  good 
reason  for  being  jealous  of  him.  So  the  two  ladies  en- 
joyed themselves  all  Wednesday  afternoon  and  evening, 
the  one  telling  of  her  husband's  derelictions,  and  the  other 
telhng  of  her  suspicions. 

Meanwhile,  all  unconscious  of  his  wife's  close  prox- 
imity, the  Rev.  Alfred  Brown  was  enjoying  himself  im- 
mensely. His  bachelor  friend  knew  the  north  end,  and 
was  able  to  give  him  surprising  knowledge  with  regard 
to  that  part  of  the  city.  They  drove  in  a  carriage  to  the 
principal  points  of  interest,  visited  Lincoln  Park  and  saw 
the  bears  in  the  bear  pit.  Only  two  things  marred  Mr. 
Brown's  happiness.  He  thought  of  his  wife,  lonely  in 
Quincy,  and  of  Mary  Candee's  sad  future.  Before  a  day 
had  passed  he  had  another  trouble.  His  former  parish- 
ioner, the  girl  who  had  gone  wrong,  followed  him.  She 
had  seen  him  in  a  cab,  had  followed  and  dogged  him  on 
every  trip,  begging  for  half-dollars.  He  wished  to  help 
her,  but  her  persecutions  almost  made  him  decide  to  take 
his  friend's  advice  and  hand  her  over  to  the  police.  But 
Mr.  Brown  was  soft-hearted. 

Mrs.  Brown  inherited  from  her  Puritan  ancestors  a 
horror  of  the  theatre,  but  her  old  school  friend  overcame 
her  scruples  enough  to  induce  her  to  go  and  see  Irving  in 
"Faust.'' 

"It  is  improper,"  the  rector's  wife  said. 

"But  the  moral  is  good,"  her  friend  replied. 


184  That  Deceptive  Telegram. 

So  she  went,  and  saw  her  husband  in  a  box  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  theatre. 

"Look  at  him !"  she  said. 

"Look  at  who?"  her  friend  said. 

"At  my  husband !  See  him — the  priest,  the  rector,  who 
came  up  to  attend  a  convocation  of  clergymen." 

"My !"  said  her  friend ;  "I  did  not  know  your  husband 
was  in  the  city." 

"You  didn't?  Where  did  you  suppose  he  would  be 
when  there  was  a  church  convocation  in  Chicago.  You 
must  know,  Mrs.  Brophy,  that  my  husband  has  official 
duties  which  call  him  to  church  councils  continually. 
Still,  I  will  say  to  you  that  I  don't  quite  like  seeing  him 
with  a  couple  of  ladies  in  a  theatre  box." 

And  she  nursed  her  wrath  in  silence  till  the  curtain 
fell. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  her  friend  cried.  "Where  are 
you  going?" 

"I  am  going  to  follow  my  husband." 

"But  you  can't.'' 

"I  can,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown,  firmly.     And  she  did. 

She  followed  her  reverend  husband  out  of  the  theatre 
and  saw  him  assisting  two  young  ladies  into  a  carriage. 
They  were  nieces  of  the  Bishop,  but  of  course  she  did  not 
know  it. 

Just  as  he  was  turning  away  a  young  woman  came  up 
arid  evidently  asked  him  for  money.     He  gave  her  half  a 


That  Deceptive  Telegram.  185 

dollar  and  was  turning  away,  but  she  clung  to  him  with 
a  persistency  which  was  annoying,  if  not  compromising. 

"You  ought  to  hand  her  over  to  the  police,"  said  the 
rector's  bachelor  friend.  "The  girl  went  to  the  bad  long 
ago.  I  have  seen  her  here,  and  know  what  she  is.  If 
she  troubles  you  again  forget  that  you  are  a  clergyman 
and  hand  her  over  to  an  officer." 

The  Rev.  Alfred  agreed,  and  his  friend  engaged  a  Pink- 
erton  detective  to  follow  and  protect  him. 

The  next  day  the  Bishop  had  decided  that  the  afternoon 
should  be  passed  in  the  different  parks,  and  that  at  six 
o'clock  the  clergy  should  assemble  at  his  home  on  On- 
tario street  for  dinner. 

Mr.  Brown's  bachelor  friend  accompanied  him,  and, 
together  with  the  Bishop's  nieces,  they  went  to  Lincoln 
Park,  visited  the  hothouses,  viewed  the  gardens,  rowed 
on  the  lake,  and  looked  at  the  bears. 

Expecting  some  disturbance,  Mr.  Brown  had  told  his 
fair  friends  about  his  trouble  and  what  might  be  ex- 
pected. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  on  his  track. 

For  a  few  moments  he  left  his  company  to  look  at  the 
deer  in  a  separate  pen  nearer  the  lake,  and  when  he  re- 
turned found  the  Bishop's  nieces  in  a  peculiar  frame  of 
mind. 

"You  may  take  us  both  to  the  Bishop,"  they  said. 

"What's  the  matter?"  the  clergyman  asked. 

"Nothing,"  one  of  them  replied,  "only  the  girl  you  told 
us  about  came  up  and  denounced  you  as  her  husband." 


1 86  That  Deceptive  Telegram. 

''This  is  really  too  much  to  bear,"  Mr.  Brown  replied. 
"I  wanted  to  help  the  poor  girl,  but  if  she  cannot  respect 
her  friends  I  must  give  her  over  to  the  police." 

Accordingly,  after  taking  the  young  ladies  to  their 
uncle,  the  Bishop,  he  called  the  detective  and  gave  him 
instructions  to  watch  closely  and  arrest  any  woman  who 
followed  or  annoyed  him  or  his  companions. 

Soon  after  the  detective  whispered  in  one  of  the  nieces' 
ears. 

"Beg  pardon,  miss,  but  I  am  a  detective.  Is  that 
woman  yonder  the  one  who  annoyed  you?" 

"Yes,  it  is." 

"All  right.  Hope  you'll  excuse  me,"  and  the  detective 
went  over  and  led  the  woman  to  the  police  station. 

The  Rev.  Alfred  Brown  passed  a  pleasant  afternoon 
after  that  and  enjoyed  himself  at  the  Bishop's  dinner, 
which  was  good  and  served  in  true  Episcopal  manner. 
After  dinner  there  were  speeches  and  a  social,  and  it  was 
not  until  nearly  midnight  that  the  convocation  adjourned. 

When  the  Rev.  Alfred  Brown  reached  the  club-room 
he  found  a  telegraphic  message : 

"Come  at  once.     Am  in  trouble. 

"Theresa  Brown." 

"Holy  Chasuble!  Something  awful  must  have  hap- 
pened!    I  wonder  if  thieves  have  broken  in." 

The  good  father  never  stopped  to  look  at  the  date, 
which  was  at  the  North  Side  police  station,  but  prepared 
to  go  down  to  Quincy. 


That  Deceptive  Telegram,  187 

While  he  was  eating  salmon  and  enjoying  ice  cream  at 
the  Bishop's  palace  his  wife  had  been  enjoying  the  hospi- 
talities of  the  police  court.  When  the  police  magistrate 
loomed  up  before  her  on  the  morning  after  her  brilliant 
debut  in  Lincoln  Park,  he  said : 

"What's  she  up  for?" 

"Trying  to  extort  money  from  the  Rev.  Alfred  Brown, 
of  Quincy,  111." 

"You  lie!"  the  reverend  gentleman's  wife  forgot  her- 
self so  much  as  to  cry.     "He  is  my  husband." 

"What,  this  detective?" 

"No;  the  Rev.  Alfred  Brown." 

How  she  managed  to  work  her  way  out  of  it  we  need 
not  inquire,  as  it  is  a  delicate  subject.  But  work  out  of 
it  she  did,  and  the  next  evening,  while  her  husband  was 
supping  on  a  cold  meal  and  wondering  why  none  of  the 
twenty  telegrams  he  had  sent  that  day  had  brought  an 
answer  from  his  wife,  she  walked  in  on  him. 

"Good  heavens,  Alfy!  what  are  you  doing  here?  I 
thought  you  were  in  Chicago!" 

"I  was,  as  you  know,  Theresa,  but  this  dispatch  called 
me  back." 

"This  dispatch;  why,"  and  she  read  it  over.  "What 
could  have  been  the  matter  with  you  ?  Couldn't  you  read  ? 
This  is  dated  at  the  North  Side  police  station  in  Chicago. 
Ah !  I  see,  my  dear,  beloved  husband ;  you  got  this  the 
night  of  the  banquet  and  you  had  taken  a  cup  of  wine 


i88  That  Deceptive  Telegram. 

too  much  to  be  able  to  read  straight.     Take  my  advice 
and  don't  go  to  any  more  of  them." 

Mr.  Brown  was  mystified,  and  Mrs.  Brown  never 
troubles  him  with  jealousy  since.  She  does  not  care  to 
watch  him  any  more,  and  he  has  never  learned  who  sent 
him  that  deceptive  telegram. 


The   Little   Girl,  Now  a  Woman 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


THE  LITTLE  GIRL.  NOW  A  WOMAN. 


I  have  been  thinking  for  several  years  that  some  time 
I  will  get  on  the  cars,  and,  after  a  ride  across  half  a  dozen 
States,  stop  at  a  large  city  on  the  borders  of  our  great 
Western  prairies ;  that  there  I  will  take  the  one  daily  train, 
which  goes  down  a  hundred  miles  across  the  prairies, 
until  I  come  to  a  little  Western  town  that  I  have  not  visit- 
ed for  years.  There  is  nothing  to  draw  me  on  such  a  long 
journey,  except  some  sad  recollections ;  but  I  feel  that  if 
I  should  walk  along  the  banks  of  a  little  stream  which 
flows  south  of  the  town,  climb  among  the  rocks  and  visit 
again  a  low-roofed  farm-house  just  beyond,  I  would  feel 
as  if  I  were  reading  over  again  a  sweet,  sad  poem  which  I 
had  once  read,  long  ago,  and  laid  aside. 

It  is  a  busy  little  Western  town.  To  the  north  the  open 
prairie,  but  the  other  three  sides  are  shut  in  by  small 
streams,  and  a  broad,  smoothly  flowing  river.  Across 
the  little  stream  stood  a  low  farm-house,  with  a  long  porch 
in  front  and  tall  shade  trees  around  it.  It  was  pictur- 
esque and  gave  a  very  comfortable  feeling  of  relief  after 
all  the  new,  unpainted  pine  houses  on  the  other  side.     It 


192        The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman. 

marked  an  old  settler  also,  for  on  the  frontier  one  desires 
first  only  to  live;  after  a  living  is  secured,  and  not  till 
then,  does  the  go-ahead  Western  man  attempt  to  make 
his  house  homelike. 

I  liked  this  place  from  the  first.  Afterward  I  loved  it 
for  the  sake  of  "the  little  girl,  now  a  woman,"  who  lived 
there. 

Soon  after  moving  to  Winfield,  father  was  taken  ill, 
and  for  a  week  I  watched  by  his  bedside  every  night. 
Then  one  evening,  in  order  to  get  some  much  needed  rest, 
I  laid  down  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  had  just  dropped 
into  a  light  sleep  when  mother  came  and  asked  me  to  get 
up  again  and  give  directions  to  a  man  who  had  come  to 
nurse  father. 

**He  is  so  deaf  that  I  cannot  make  him  hear,  and  so 
near-sighted  that  he  cannot  see  anything.  See  if  you  can 
make  him  understand  what  is  needed,"  she  said. 

So  I  got  up  and  went  into  father's  room,  and  there,  for 
th«  first  time,  saw  Tom  Mell,  about  as  queer  a  specimen 
of  humanity  as  I  ever  met. 

He  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair,  rocking  to  and  fro  in  an 
absent-minded  sort  of  way,  like  one  entirely  cut  off  from 
the  world.  His  forehead  was  flat  and  low,  and  his  eyes 
had  the  peculiar  squint  common  to  near-sighted  people. 
His  nose  looked  as  if  it  had  a  small  bone  in  the  end,  and 
that  the  skin  was  drawn  from  it  to  the  forehead,  with  a 
slight  depression  in  the  middle.  I  afterward  learned  that 
it  was  solid,  but  the  thin,  almost  transparent  cuticle  never 
let  me  fully  realize  the  fact.     His  hair  was  neatly  oiled 


The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman.       193 

and  polished,  but  it  had  a  queer  way  of  slanting  backward 
on  one  side  and  forward  on  the  other  that  no  amount  of 
oil  or  polishing  could  rectify.  His  whiskers  consisted  of 
a  thin,  wiry  mustache  and  a  moderately  heavy  crop  under 
his  chin,  of  which  Tom  was  very  proud. 

Just  awakened  from  sleep,  I  could  not  help  smiling  as 
I  shouted  the  directions  in  his  ear  and  in  return  received 
a  low,  thin  answer  that  would  have  done  credit  to  one 
in  the  last  stages  of  consumption.  He  smiled,  and  seemed 
so  completely  taken  with  the  idea  that  he  smiled  on  all 
through  the  interview.  And  when  he  bent  over  me  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  wake  me,  he  was  smiling 
still. 

This  was  our  first  meeting,  and  after  the  kindness 
shown  us,  I  took  pains  to  cultivate  his  acquaintance.  At 
first  he  always  touched  his  old  straw  hat  when  we  met, 
and  smiled  that  peculiar  smile  of  his,  but  as  we  grew 
more  intimate,  he  ceased  the  former  and  I  forgot  to  notice 
the  latter. 

One  evening  I  visited  him  in  his  room,  which  was  up 
over  a  hardware  store  on  Main  street,  and  was  approached 
by  a  dark  entry  with  irregular  steps,  and  boxes  and  boards 
in  the  passage,  which  rendered  it  a  dangerous  route  for 
inexperienced  travelers,  even  at  midday.  It  was  a  regu- 
lar bachelor's  den,  with  a  bed  and  cooking-stove  and  other 
necessary  furniture  for  keeping  house. 

Tom  was  at  supper  when  I  entered,  and  after  he  had 
finished  his  solitary  meal  we  drew  our  chairs  close  to- 
gether and  he  told  me  the  story  of  his  life.     It  was  sad. 


194       The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman. 

and  yet  it  was  lonelier  than  sad.  At  an  early  age  he  had 
been  taken  with  a  disease  which  had  left  him  nearly  deaf. 
No  sooner  had  he  recovered  from  his  sickness  than  he 
began  another  fight  with  disease — consumption.  In  a 
comic  manner  that  was  pathetic,  he  told  me  that  night 
of  his  illness  and  of  the  "cheerful  words"  his  friends  gave 
him.  His  uncle  especially  amused  him  with  the  doleful 
remark : 

''You  may  get  well — in  fact,  I  think  you  will ;  but  you 
had  better  be  a  very  good  boy !"  which  he  repeated  at  the 
close  of  every  visit.  And  when  he  went  on  to  relate  how 
he  left  home,  determined  to  support  himself,  how  he  lived 
his  solitary  life,  although  in  the  same  village  with  his 
father  and  step-mother,  of  his  struggles  and  failures,  I 
felt  something  tugging  in  my  breast,  and  grew  ashamed 
of  what  I  had  considered  trouble. 

It  is  always  so.  There  are  in  every  village,  no  matter 
how  small,  characters  whom  God  has  made  for  daily  les- 
sons to  the  unsatisfied  ones — persons  bearing  such  heavy 
burdens  so  manfully  that  we  grow  ashamed  of  our  own 
complaining  and  dare  not  speak  of  our  own  little  crosses 
to  them. 

"I  have  always  tried  to  get  a  little  ahead,"  he  said  in 
his  low,  thin  voice ;  "but  it  seems  as  though  I  cannot.  I 
used  to  think  I  would  some  time  go  to  college,  and  I 
worked  hard  to  do  so — but — I  had  to  give  it  up." 

I  knew  Tom  was  considered  quite  a  genius  in  his  own 
way,  but  I  had  not  expected  to  hear  this  from  him. 

"That  was  the  hardest  cross  of  my  life,"  he  continued 


Tlie  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman.        195 

after  a  little  pause.  "No  one,  unless  he  has  gone  through 
it,  knows  how  blank  it  leaves  a  life  to  strive  for  years 
after  something  that  will  elevate  his  condition,  and  then 
have  his  plans  fail  and  know  that  his  whole  life  must  be 
passed  in  the  same  low  position." 


II. 

Coming  home  one  stormy  evening  about  a  month  after 
this,  I  passed  the  village  church.  The  outer  door  was 
open  a  little  way,  and,  hearing  the  organ,  I  went  in ;  for 
I  knew  Tom's  habit  of  passing  his  evenings  alone  in  the 
church,  sending  out  into  the  darkness  as  true  hymns  of 
praise  as  ever  were  heard. 

I  opened  the  inner  door  quietly  and  walked  up  the 
aisle  unseen.  I  had  often  heard  Tom  play,  but  never 
as  now  when  he  thought  himself  alone — alone  with  God. 
The  storm  gathered  and  broke,  and  the  thunder  shook 
the  windows  of  the  church,  but  Tom  was  all  unconscious. 
His  heart  was  going  out  on  the  strains  of  a  joyful  Te 
Deum ;  as  for  the  noise,  I  doubt  if  he  even  heard  it,  and 
as  for  the  darkness,  blind  people  do  not  mind  that.  Once 
a  streak  of  lightning  lighted  up  the  church  for  several 
seconds,  just  as  he  came  to  the  passage : 

"Thou  art  the  King  of  Glory,  O  Christ, 
Thou  art  the  everlasting  Son  of  the  Father." 

He  was  filling  the  whole  church  with  the  strain^  and 


196       The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman. 

as  the  lightning  came  I  saw  his  face  was  turned  toward 
the  cross  in  the  chancel,  and  shone  as  if  he  was  looking 
straight  up  into  the  eyes  of  God. 

I  bowed  my  head  reverently,  for  I  could  feel  that  his 
soul  was  going  out  in  every  note,  and  that  the  truest  of 
heart  worship  was  ascending  to  the  Eternal  and  Invisible 
King.  A  tender  feeling  stole  over  me,  there  in  the  dark- 
ness, listening  to  this  one  cut  off  from  society  by  his 
infirmities,  solacing  himself  by  this  communion  with  the 
Father.  What  heartaches,  what  burdens  were  here 
soothed  and  lifted  and  borne  away. 

The  Te  Deum  died  away,  and  then,  without  a  pause, 
he  commenced  that  grand  evening  hymn: 

"Lead  kindly  light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom — 

Lead  Thou  me  on. 
The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from  home — 

Lead  Thou  me  on." 

I  would  like  to  have  remained  concealed  longer;  but, 
at  the  close  of  the  hymn  another  bright  flash  of  lightning 
illuminated  the  church  for  an  instant,  and  Tom,  seeing 
me,  called  out  in  a  cheery  voice: 

"Why,  hallo !  You  here?  I  didn't  see  you,"  and  came 
down  from  the  organ  loft. 

He  would  not  play  any  more,  so  we  sat  together  in  the 
pew  and  talked  until  the  storm  was  over.  I  had  that 
day  been  across  the  little  stream  south  of  the  village  and 
met  the  daughter  of  the  house.  She  had  interested  me 
greatly,  and  during  one  of  the  lulls  of  the  conversation 


The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman.        197 

I  asked  Tom  about  her.  Much  to  my  surprise,  for  he 
was  always  courtly,  he  replied  brusquely: 

"I  would  rather  not  talk  about  her." 

"That  interests  me,  Tom.     Go  on." 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you,  I  suppose,"  he  replied  after 
thinking  for  a  moment,  "but  you  must  not  mention  it. 
She  has  had  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it — was  engaged,  and 
the  match  broken  off.  It  isn't  talked  about  now,  but  I 
tell  you,  only  you  must  keep  it  quiet.  You  see,  there 
was  something  the  matter — I  don't  know  what — but  the 
two  were  together  for  several  years,  and  then  her  lover 
went  away.  All  I  know  is  that  he  loved  her,  and  she 
loved  him — but  she  can  never  marry." 

"How  do  you  know?"  I  asked  abruptly,  for  I  never 
liked  these  tragedies. 

"The  man  was  satisfied,"  Tom  answered  briefly. 

"And  she  loves  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"In  Australia." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"My  brother." 

I  kept  silent.  How  rude  of  me  to  draw  him  out  in  this 
manner  when  I  had  heard  that  his  brother  was  now  on 
the  other  side  of  the  world!  So,  mortified  at  my  care- 
less stupidity,  I  leaned  back  in  the  pew  and  waited  for 
Tom  to  break  the  silence. 

But  he  did  not  say  anything  for  some  time,  and  when 
he  did  speak  It  was  more  to  himself  than  to  me. 


198       The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman. 

"She  loved  him,"  I  heard  him  saying.  "She  will  never 
marry.  ...  A  woman  loves  but  once ;  a  second  love 
with  them  isn't  real  love  .  .  .  and  Mamie  is  too 
much  of  a  woman  to  give  anything  else  to  a  man.  .  .  . 
Neither  one  was  to  blame.  They  had  to  part,  and  so 
they  did.     ...     She  loved  him !" 

One  night  Tom  was  ill  and  I  was  by  his  bed.  We  had 
no  light,  and  the  twilight  made  him  confidential ;  or,  per- 
haps, it  was  his  mind  wandering, 

"There  was  a  little  girl  once,  Paul,"  he  said  as  he  lay 
on  his  rough  bed  in  that  rough  little  room.  "We  used 
to  play  together;  and  one  afternoon,  I  remember,  we 
played  keeping  house,  and  I  was  the  man  and  she  was  my 
wife.  I  often  think  of  that  afternoon — we  talked  then  of 
living  together  when  we  got  big!  I  wonder  if  she  has 
forgotten  it.  She  never  speaks  of  it.  But  then,  it  never 
could  be.  This  sickness  came,  and  now  I  am  nearly  deaf 
and  blind.  No  one  wants  to  be  with  me.  It's  a  lonely 
life,  Paul !  No  one  feels  the  want  of  a  home  more  than 
I  do.  And  I  am  entirely  cut  off  from  one.  Sometimes 
I  feel  that  if  that  little  girl,  now  a  woman,  would  only 
come  into  my  room  once — if  she  would  sit  down  by  my 
bed  only  once,  as  you  are  sitting — I  would  be  more  satis- 
fied ;  my  life  would  be  happier.  The  old  room  wouldn't 
look  so  lonesome  if  she  had  been  in  it  once.  I  have  given 
her  up,  but — I  love  her  still.  It  seems  the  wider  apart 
we  drift,  the  more  my  thoughts  turn  to  her  and  that  one 
summer  afternoon." 


The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman.       199 

I  had  never  thought  of  Tom  having  any  such  sad  mem- 
ories in  his  breast.  It  was  hard  enough,  God  knows,  to 
Hve  his  lonely  life  without  any  broken  dreams  to  look 
back  to.  He  did  not  tell  me  the  name  of  the  "little  girl, 
now  a  woman,"  and  I  did  not  ask  him.  But  I  sat  in 
the  darkness  and  thought  of  poor  Tom  meeting  her,  per- 
haps, daily  upon  the  streets  of  the  little  village;  of  his 
thoughts  and  repressed  longings,  as  he  did  so;  of  the 
two  now  separated,  going  their  own  different  ways,  the 
one,  perhaps,  not  dreaming  of  the  care  the  other  had  for 
her — maybe  courted  now  by  another — at  least,  enjoying 
all  the  pleasures  of  society ;  all  of  which  poor  Tom  must 
see  and  be  pained  by,  having  for  himself  only  the  bitter- 
sweet memory  of  a  long  faded  dream. 

I  sat  and  watched  by  him  in  silence,  and  I  knew  that 
in  my  place  by  his  side  he  was  dreaming  another  one  sat, 
who,  if  she  only  would  come,  but  for  a  moment,  would 
do  more  for  him  than  all  else  in  the  world. 

After  a  while  he  dropped  asleep. 


IIL 

Poor  Tom  was  dying.  I  had  been  with  him  for  a 
week,  doing  what  I  could  to  make  him  comfortable.  We 
were  alone  the  most  of  the  time,  for  he  wished  it. 

One  Sunday  evening  he  was  more  restless  than  usual. 

*Taul,  I  want  to  see  her  before  I  die.  Can't  you  bring 
her  to  me?" 


200       The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman. 

"Who  is  it,  Tom?"  I  asked,  thinking  his  mind  was 
wandering. 

'I've  never  told  you.  I  didn't  want  to.  But  now  I 
must  see  her.  I  haven't  talked  to  her  for  eight  years. 
It  v/ill  do  no  good — we  never  could  be  more  to  one  an- 
other, but  I  want  that  little  hand  in  mine  once  again  be- 
fore I  die.     We  have  been  apart  so  long — so  long,  Paul !" 

"Is  she  good  and  kind?  Will  she  come?  You  know 
this  is  hardly  the  place  for  a  young  lady." 

"Yes,  she  will  come  if  you  ask  her.  She  is  good  and 
true,  or  I  would  have  forgotten  her.  But  even  if  she  were 
not,  I  should  like  to  see  the  little  girl — Mamie." 

I  put  on  my  hat  and  prepared  to  go  upon  the  errand. 

"Who  did  you  say  it  was,  Tom  ?" 

"Mamie  Crowell.  You  know  it  all  now.  She  loved 
my  brother,  but  they  were  separated.  I  couldn't  help 
loving  her  still,  but  I  kept  it  a  secret.  Oh,  Paul!  you 
understand  all  of  the  loneliness  of  my  life  now !" 

I  went  out  and  left  him  alone.  I  met  Miss  Crowell  on 
her  way  to  church  and  she  came  back  with  me.  I  opened 
the  door  of  Tom's  room  and  let  her  pass  in;  and  then 
turned  away. 

At  last,  Tom's  dream  of  happiness  was  realized.  His 
loneliness  was  over.  For  a  short  time,  as  he  had  so  often 
wished,  his  boyhood's  love  was  with  him.  I  knew  she 
would  sit  down  and  lay  her  hand  in  his,  although  she 
might  only  dimly  guess  the  truth.  She  did  not  love  him 
as  he  wished,  yet  hers  was  also  so  sad  a  life  that  she 
could  sympathize  with  him.     And  perhaps  her  woman's 


The  Little  Girl,  Now  a  Woman.        201 

heart  would  fathom  the  truth — that,  to  him,  this  twilight 
hour  was  a  repetition  of  that  summer  afternoon  so  long 
ago.  And  for  him — to  have  her  with  him  once  again  was 
enough. 

I  walked  along  the  streets  for  half  an  hour,  and  then 
v/ent  back.  Tom  was  lying  on  the  bed  with  her  hand 
in  his.  There  was  a  sad  look  on  Mamie's  face,  but  Tom 
was  smiling.  He  was  dead.  Another  life  had  gone  to 
God — a  life  dreary  and  sad  and  lonely.  But  the  passing 
had  been  made  happy  by  "the  little  girl,  now  a  woman," 
and  by  the  old  dream  lived  over  again  for  a  brief  half- 
hour. 


A  Chicago   Romance. 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


A  CHICAGO  ROMANCE, 


The  last  man  I  expected  to  meet  as  I  was  going  down 
State  street  was  George  Danvers,  for  the  last  time  I  had 
seen  him  was  in  Paris,  and  he  had  then  informed  me  that 
he  never  expected  to  return  to  America.  Ten  years  before 
we  had  both  been  residents  of  Chicago,  and  the  greater 
part  of  these  ten  years  had  been  passed  by  him  in  the 
Old  World.  He  had  a  comfortable  fortune  and  could 
indulge  in  whims.  And  one  of  his  whims  was  travel, 
although  I  never  could  understand  just  why  he  wished 
to  exile  himself  so  much  as  he  did. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  surprise  in  my  greeting  on 
State  street,  and  I  did  not  know  but  I  had  reason  to  be 
offended,  as  only  a  week  before  I  had  received  a  letter 
from  him,  in  which  he  had  made  no  mention  of  revisiting 
Chicago.    Whether  he  detected  this,  he  at  once  said : 

"Well,  old  boy,  you  are  surprised  to  see  me,  arn't  you  ? 
I  haven't  time  now  to  tell  you  why  I  am  here,  but  I  want 
to  repose  a  bit  of  confidence  in  you.  I  never  have  had 
but  one  secret  from  you  in  my  life,  and  if  you  will  dine 
with  me  at  the  Palmer  House  to-night  I  would  like  to  tell 
you  that  one." 


2o6  A  Chicago  Romance. 

His  invitation  was  accepted,  and  at  seven  that  evening 
we  were  seated  at  a  table  in  a  private  room.  Soup  went 
the  way  of  all  the  world,  fish  followed  the  soup,  and  a 
roast  duck  was  on  its  way  after  the  soup  and  fish,  but 
George  said  nothing  of  his  secret.  Our  talk  was  all  com- 
monplace, about  men  and  women  we  had  known,  and  as 
the  dessert  was  served  he  said : 

"Do  you  ever  hear  anything  of  Mrs.  Archer?" 

"Mrs.  Archer!     No,  I  do  not  remember  her." 

"Mrs.  Fred  Archer.  Her  maiden  name  was  Lawson, 
Helen  Lawson." 

"Oh !  that  flirt.  Yes,  I  remember  hernow.  She  jilted 
a  dozen  good  men.  She  had  no  conscience,  no  principle, 
and  I  always  disliked  her." 

"There,  my  boy,  don't  get  excited,"  George  replied. 
"For  my  secret  is  concerning  her." 

"Ah  I  then  you  were  really  smitten  by  the  jade?  I  saw 
you  were  quite  attentive,  but  I  never  believed  that  she 
had  added  your  name  to  her  list  of  victims.  And  is  that 
the  reason  of  your  long  exile  in  foreign  lands?" 

"Partly  so,  yes.  But  not  just  as  you  imagine.  I  did 
not  love  Helen  Lawson,  but  I  do  love  Mrs.  Fred  Archer." 

"The — deuce !  I  did  not  know  you  had  ever  met  the 
lady  since  her  marriage." 

"Neither  have  I." 

"And  yet  you  say  you  love  her !" 

"Shall  I  relate  the  story  of  my  passion  to  you  now? 
Do  you  think  you  are  sufficiently  cool  to  hear  it  ?  Shall  I 
order  a  seltzer  for  you  first  ?" 


A  Chicago  Romance.  207 

"If  you  wish  any  fire  over  the  dead  embers  of  that 
flame,  my  advice  is  to  send  for  a  bottle  of  cognac  for  both 
of  us." 

"I  see  you  are  cool  enough  and  will  proceed.  You 
knew  Tom  Jones?" 

"Yes.  He  was  the  poor  fellow  she  treated  so  badly. 
He  blew  out  his  brains  soon  after  she  dismissed  him.  I 
never  spoke  to  her  after  it  happened." 

"Well !     You  know  Tom  was  my  chum  at  college." 

"I  believe  I  do  remember  something  about  it." 

"When  she  treated  him  so  badly  my  curiosity  was  ex- 
cited. I  wished  to  see  what  power  she  had  over  men. 
Now  that  I  am  confiding  in  you,  I  might  as  well  confess 
the  whole  truth — I  thought  I  would  test  my  flirting  pow- 
ers against  hers !" 

"You  decided  to  make  her  love  you,  and  ended  in  be- 
coming an  exile  from  unrequited  love.  George,  forgive 
me  for  speaking  so  lightly.     I  am  very  sorry  for  you !" 

"You  forget,"  George  interposed,  "that  I  said  I  never 
loved  Helen  Lawson." 

"I  don't  understand  you.     Go  on." 

"After  poor  Tom's  death,  I  placed  myself  in  her  way. 
Did  not  seek  her — paid  her  no  attention.  Only  continued 
to  meet  her  as  if  by  accident.  And  when  we  did  meet,  I 
treated  her  coolly — as  I  would  treat  one  in  whom  I  could 
not  possibly  have  any  interest.  She  heard  of  my  ex- 
pressed dislike  for  her,  and  after  a  time  began  to  draw 
me  out.  I  would  treat  her  courteously,  but  never  allowed 
myself  to  become  her  wooer.     She  was  always  left  to 


2o8  A  Chicago  Romance. 

make  the  advances.  I  never  acted  as  if  I  thought  she 
was  a  flirt.  Never  mentioned  poor  Tom's  name.  Of 
course  that  worried  her  and  one  evening  she  lost  her 
temper. 

"  'You  are  a  heartless  brute/  she  said  to  me. 

"I  pleaded  guilty  to  being  an  animal,  insomuch  as  I 
was  a  man,  and  she  laughed  and  then  cried. 

"It  isn't  pleasant  to  see  a  woman  in  tears.  And — it 
isn't  safe.  You  know  what  some  old  philosopher  has 
said  about  a  woman  always  having  her  way  with  a  man 
when  she  begins  to  weep!  So  I  thought  I  would  better 
retire  gracefully. 

"I  think  I  said  a  few  farewell  words  courteously  and 
was  about  to  withdraw.  But  before  I  reached  the  door 
she  had  flung  herself  in  front  of  me. 

"  'You  shall  not  go,'  she  said.     'You  are  a  brute.' 

"  'So  you  informed  me  before,'  I  replied,  'and  I  agreed 
with  you.' 

"Well,  whatever  was  the  cause,  I  do  not  know,  but 
the  next  moment  her  arms  were  around  my  neck  and 
her  head  on  my  bosom. 

"  'I  love  you,'  she  said.  'I  cannot  let  you  go.  I  know 
you  despise  me.  But  I  love  you.  My  pride  is  all  gone. 
You  have  conquered  me.     I  love  you.'  " 

"Well?"  I  queried,  as  he  stopped. 

"Well  ?  My  curiosity  and  my  desire  for  revenge  were 
both  satisfied  and  I  left  for  Europe  on  the  next  steamer. 
In  three  months  I  heard  of  her  marriage  to  Fred  Archer. 
It  seems  that  they  had  been  secretly  engaged  for  several 


A  Chicago  Romance.  209 

years  and  Chicago  society  was  very  much  astonished  that 
she  kept  her  word  with  him." 

"Where  were  you  ?"  I  asked. 

''Well,  old  boy,"  he  replied.  "As  I  am  in  the  confes- 
sional box  I  may  as  well  acknowledge  that  I  believe  she 
married  Fred  out  of  pique,  in  hopes  of  reinstating  her 
pride  and  showing  me  she  was  trying  to  deceive  me  also." 

"Slightly  egotistic,"  I  said,  "but  I  can  understand  your 
feelings  and  pardon  it." 

"All  right!"  he  answered.  "For  two  years  I  thought 
of  Helen  Lawson  in  that  way.  The  third  I  began  to 
imagine  her  as  really  loving  me — of  the  glorious  possi- 
bilities in  her — of  what  she  might  have  developed  into 
had  she  married  the  man  she  loved.  Then  I  censured 
myself  for  my  heartlessness  (I  was  in  India  then),  and 
during  the  seven  years  which  have  followed  I  have  loved 
her." 

"And  you  have  never  seen  her?" 

"No.  A  month  ago  I  heard  that  Fred  was  dead,  and 
I  came  back  at  once.  To-morrow  I  call  upon  her  and 
will  ask  her  to  be  my  wife.  Dine  with  me  here  to-mor- 
row night  and  we  will  drink  to  the  health  of  the  future 
Mrs.  Danvers." 

******** 

The  next  evening  I  kept  my  appointment  with  George. 
The  dinner  was  more  elaborate  than  the  previous  one, 
and  I  saw  that  my  host  had  a  superb  bottle  of  wine  at  his 
right  hand. 


3IO  A  CUcago  Romance. 

*'This  is  to  pledge  the  future  Mrs.  Danvers  in/'  he  re^ 
marked  as  we  sat  down. 

The  dinner  passed  and  after  dessert  he  poured  a  glass 
of  choice  wine  for  each. 

"Let  us  drink  to  the  health  of  the  future  Mrs.  Dan- 
vers," he  said.  "And  forgive  me  for  keeping  you  so  long 
in  suspense.     But  she  has  never  been  born." 

"Never  been  born?"  I  cried.  "Have  you  been  play- 
ing me  another  Marjorie  Daw  trick?" 

"Not  exactly.  I  called  on  Mrs.  Archer  this  afternoon. 
She  was  so  much  changed  that  I  did  not  recognize  her. 
But  she  knew  me  at  once,  and  assured  me  that  she  was 
Helen  Lawson  Archer. 

"  *It  was  very  kind  in  you  to  make  me  this  visit  of 
condolence,'  she  said.  'You  were  quite  fond  of  me 
once,  were  you  not?  But  that  was  long  ago,  and  early 
loves  are  not,  as  a  usual  thing,  very  lasting.  I  never 
realized  that  I  could  have  any  genuine  affection  until  I 
married  Fred.'  " 

"How  does  she  look?" 

"Matronly,  and  rather  stout.     She  has  five  children." 

"And  you  did  not  propose?" 

"No.     I  had  no  chance." 


The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay. 

By  CHARLES  CURTZ  HAHN. 


THE 

BEACON  SHIP  OF  HALF  MOON  BAY. 


Three  years  ago  I  was  detained  for  several  months 
along  the  Pacific  coast  near  San  Francisco.  Business  of 
the  house  I  am  connected  with  in  New  York  sent  me 
across  the  continent,  and  after  visiting  our  correcpondent 
in  San  Francisco  I  found  that  I  would  be  obliged  to  re- 
main some  time  in  the  State.  I  took  advantage  of  this 
opportunity  to  make  a  run  down  the  coast  branch  of  the 
Central  Pacific  to  San  Mateo  and  visit  an  old  friend. 
Down  this  road,  between  the  bay  and  the  sea,  are  a  num- 
ber of  stations  near  which  the  millionaires  of  San  Fran- 
cisco reside.  San  Mateo  is  the  first  town  of  any  im- 
portance, and  it  is  made  so  only  by  the  location  there  of 
a  semi-military,  semi-church  school,  St.  Matthew's  Hall. 

But  before  going  farther  with  my  story  I  ought  to  go 
back  and  give  a  paragraph  to  my  journey  across  the 
Rockies. 

After  leaving  Omaha,  in  spite  of  Pullman  palace  cars 
and  attentive  porters,  our  journey  was  a  dreary  one.  A 
party  across  the  aisle  engaged  in  daily  games  of  euchre ; 
the  party  in  front  of  me  struck  up  a  flirtation  with  the 
young  man  opposite.     In  like  manner  all  seemed  to  find 


214     The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay. 

companions  in  misery  except  myself  and  a  boy  who  oc- 
cupied a  berth  over  the  rear  bumpers.  My  stock  of  books 
and  magazines  lasted  me  until  we  were  approaching 
Ogden.  On  the  last  afternoon  before  we  reached  that 
city,  at  which  we  changed  from  the  Union  to  the  Central 
Pacific,  they  failed,  and  by  a  fortunate  occurrence  I  fell 
in  with  my  bumper  companion.  We  were  both  braving 
one  of  the  mountain  outlaws,  yclept  innkeepers,  and  I 
was  out  of  change.  My  traveling  companion  offered  to 
make  it  and  trust  me  to  Ogden.  So  we  became  acquaint- 
ed, and  while  waiting  at  Ogden  took  a  stroll  together 
through  the  town.  On  returning  to  the  station  we  se- 
cured berths  near  each  other  and  together  sat  upon  the 
rear  platform  and  watched  the  sunset  on  the  salty  sea. 
By  the  time  we  were  ready  to  be  ferried  across  the  bay 
to  San  Francisco  we  had  become  good  friends  and  had 
agreed  to  put  up  at  the  same  hotel.  He  had  also  com- 
municated to  me  the  fact  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  pro- 
fessor in  Cornell  University,  and  was  out  hunting  speci- 
mens for  his  father's  museum. 

A  month  afterward  I  returned  from  a  short  trip  south, 
met  him  at  the  Brooklyn  House,  and  together  we  went  to 
see  Barrett,  in  his  alleged  talented  representation  of 
Richelieu — a  character  which,  in  my  opinion,  he  never 
could  correctly  impersonate  should  he  study  it  until  the 
craque  o'  doom.  At  midnight  my  friend's  vessel  was  to 
sail  northward  with  the  tide,  in  search  of  sea  lions,  and 
we  parted  in  the  midst  of  the  second  act.  So  much  for 
introduction. 


The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay.     215 

One  day  my  San  Mateo  friend  informed  me  that  a 
society  of  which  he  was  a  member  had  arranged  for  a 
day  on  the  seashore,  and  invited  me  to  go  along,  pro- 
vided I  would  furnish  a  conveyance  for  myself.  I  ac- 
cepted, and  one  cool  June  morning  we  started  across  the 
foothills  to  Spanishtown.  Five  miles  from  the  shore  we 
were  three  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea  and  saw 
below  us  a  narrow  trail  across  the  sand  and  the  ocean 
beyond.  Upon  the  shore  was  a  straggling  village  in- 
habited by  "greasers,"  and,  as  we  drew  nearer  we  could 
detect  several  small  cabins  near  the  sea.  These,  we  after- 
ward found,  were  occupied  by  wreckers,  who  were  then 
engaged  in  raising  a  vessel  which  had  sunk  half  a  mile 
off  shore. 

Spanishtown  is  situated  at  the  southern  extremity  of 
Half  Moon  Bay,  a  peaceful  bit  of  sea  in  calm  weather. 
When  there  was  no  storm  the  waves  rolled  up  with  long 
graceful  curves,  but  when  storms  swept  over  the  bay 
it  was  a  dangerous  place  for  vessels,  and  the  Government 
had  stationed  a  light  ship  at  the  entrance  to  warn  sailors 
of  the  rocky  coast. 

As  we  strolled  upon  the  sand,  gathering  seaweed  and 
starfish,  the  Pacific  was  very  calm,  indeed,  but  as  the 
tide  came  in  at  close  of  day  the  waves  rolled  up  against 
the  rocks  we  climbed  upon  at  midday  in  perfect  security, 
we  realized  the  terribleness  of  a  calm  body  once  moved  to 
anger. 

Toward  evening  a  black  cloud  arose  from  the  western 


2i6     The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay, 

horizon.  The  wind  freshened  and  with  it  came  tokens  of 
a  storm  at  sea. 

Off  a  mile  from  the  coast,  where  we  could  just  see  the 
top  of  her  masts,  was  anchored  the  beacon  ship,  a  goodly 
sized  schooner,  manned  at  that  time  by  three  persons,  who 
nightly  trimmed  the  lamps  which  no  doubt  kept  many 
sailors  from  going  down  to  ''Davy  Jones'  locker."  My 
San  Mateo  friend  said  that  they  had  been  there  for  years 
and  during  that  time  had  been  the  means  of  saving  many 
lives. 

Before  the  tide  turned  four  of  our  party  had  climbed 
to  a  shelf  of  the  cliff,  some  twenty  feet  above  the  beach, 
and  so  occupied  had  we  been  in  watching  the  waves  lap 
up  one  after  another  of  the  rocks  we  had  a  few  hours 
before  been  walking  upon,  that  we  did  not  notice  that 
the  tide  had  cut  us  off  from  our  friends.  There  we  were, 
half  way  up  the  cliff,  and  a  storm  rising  in  front  of  us. 
This  bit  of  carelessness  delayed  our  return  home,  and 
afterward  I  was  glad  of  it. 

Gradually  the  storm  increased.  Instead  of  the  long 
majestic  billows  which  characterize  the  Pacific,  the  waves, 
aided  by  the  tide,  became  terrible  in  their  proportions. 
The  sky  grew  dark  with  dense  clouds;  the  waves  rolled 
in  with  what  seemed  an  angry  dash ;  they  lapped  up  the 
sand  foot  by  foot;  they  reached  the  rocks  beyond,  beat 
upon  them,  broke  with  fury  against  the  barrier  and  re- 
turned frothing  to  tell  the  others  of  their  unfriendly  greet- 
in  cf. 


fc>- 


In  the  midst  of  the  storm  a  body  was  cast  up  by  the 


The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay.     217 

waves  and  fell  at  our  feet.  A  rope  had  been  fastened 
to  a  stake  on  the  top  of  the  cliff  and  hung  down  to  the 
ledge  to  assist  adventurous  climbers,  but  so  far  we  had 
not  cared  to  make  use  of  it,  although  warned  several 
times  by  the  wreckers  to  do  so. 

We  did  an  ungallant  act.  We  sent  a  lady  up  the  rope 
with  instructions  to  cut  it  when  she  reached  the  top.  She 
did  so,  and  the  rope  fell  at  our  feet.  My  friend  seized 
it,  tied  one  end  about  my  waist  and  lowered  me  to  the 
sea.  Half  blinded  by  the  salt  water,  I  managed  to  se- 
cure the  body,  tied  it  to  my  own  by  means  of  a  few  feet 
of  rope  left  free  for  that  purpose,  and  by  the  combined 
muscles  of  my  friend  and  the  lady  with  him  we  were 
drawn  up  to  a  place  of  safety. 

Imagine  my  surprise  on  reaching  the  shelf  to  find  the 
body  we  had  rescued  was  the  body  of  my  overland  com- 
panion, the  young  specimen  hunter.  By  this  time  the 
lady  who  had  ascended  and  cut  the  rope  had  brought 
several  wreckers  to  our  assistance,  and  we  were,  one  by 
one,  drawn  up  to  the  top  of  the  cliff.  There  we  brought 
my  friend  back  to  life  and,  partly  in  the  wreckers'  cabin 
and  partly  in  a  dingy  little  room  in  Spanishtown,  that 
night  he  told  me  the  following  story,  which  he  amplified 
the  next  day  w^hen  he  was  stronger. 

After  leaving  me  the  night  of  the  opera  he  had  found 
smooth  sailing  for  twelve  hours.  Then  a  storm  came 
up  and  he  found  that  his  crew  was  entirely  useless.  One 
man  only,  the  one  from  whom  he  had  engaged  the  sloop, 
understood  anything  about  navigation.     The  rest  of  the 


2i8     THe  Beacon  SHip  of  Half  Moon  Bay. 

crew  were  veritable  landlubbers  when  it  came  to  danger. 
When  the  storm  struck  them  they  were  near  the  shore, 
and  there  being  no  harbor  the  captain  gave  orders  to  put 
to  sea.  The  men  refused  to  obey,  and  several  entered  a 
boat  and  rowed  for  shore.  Their  fate  my  friend  never 
learned.  The  sloop,  left  half  manned,  blundered  before 
the  storm,  drifted  southward  and  at  length  lost  her  rud- 
der. For  days  they  drifted,  now  here,  now  there,  at  the 
mercy  of  the  sea,  now  inward  with  the  tide,  now  out  to 
sea  again.  Gradually,  however,  they  floated  southward. 
Once  or  twice  they  sighted  outgoing  ships,  but  so  far 
away  that  their  signals  were  not  seen. 

On  the  sixth  day  the  captain  advised  my  friend  to  take 
one  of  the  boats  and,  with  two  sailors,  endeavor  to  reach 
land  or  some  ship  and  send  succor  to  the  sloop. 

This  was  done,  but  the  first  night  out  the  wind  fresh- 
ened and  the  boat  was  swamped.  From  that  time  on 
until  early  in  the  morning  my  friend  was  unconscious. 
An  hour  before  sunrise  he  found  himself  still  in  the  boat, 
which  was  half  full  of  water  but  still  able  to  float.  The 
oars  were  gone  and  neither  of  the  sailors  could  be  seen. 
On  to  the  southeast  he  saw  a  dark  line  which  he  knew 
was  the  coast,  and  after  bailing  out  the  boat  he  took  the 
helm  and  steered  as  well  as  he  could  for  it. 

Just  before  sunrise  he  was  surprised  and  gladdened  to 
see  a  schooner  standing  straight  up  out  of  the  sea,  half  a 
mile  to  the  south.  He  steered  for  it,  and,  the  tide  flowing 
in,  was  able  to  reach  it. 

But  when  directly  under  the  vessel,  which  was  strangely 


The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay.     219 

motionless,  he  saw  no  signs  of  life  about  it.  He  called 
and  no  one  answered,  but  seeing  a  chain  hanging  down 
the  side,  he  let  his  boat  go  and  climbed  by  it  to  the  deck. 

He  expected  either  to  find  the  vessel  deserted  or  the 
crew  all  below.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  met  by  a  man 
in  officer's  dress  the  moment  he  stood  upon  the  deck. 
This  man's  face  was  as  emotionless  as  a  Sphinx,  and  the 
greeting  he  gave  my  friend  was  as  cold  as  a  New  Yorker 
could  give  a  poor  relation  from  the  west.  No  one  else 
appeared  on  deck,  and  without  inquiring  into  the  manner 
in  which  he  had  been  shipwrecked,  or  evincing  any  in- 
terest in  him,  the  officer  led  him  to  the  cabin,  where  food 
and  a  change  of  clothes  were  given  him.  On  board  every- 
thing was  supernaturally  quiet.  The  waves  ^  lapped 
against  the  vessel's  sides  and  that  was  all.  No  figures 
moved  upon  the  deck,  and  the  vessel  itself  was  absolutely 
motionless. 

Within  a  few  hours  the  rescued  man  was  able  to  move 
about,  and  he  made  an  attempt  to  reach  the  upper  deck. 

He  found  his  cabin  door  barred. 

Calling  for  help,  his  call  was  answered  by  the  man  who 
met  him  on  the  deck  of  the  mysterious  vessel.  His  re- 
plies to  my  friend's  questions  were  short  and  unsatisfac- 
tory, but  this  much  the  latter  soon  learned — that  he  was 
a  prisoner.  Why,  he  could  not  conjecture.  Who  his 
jailer  was  he  could  not  imagine. 

For  two  days  he  remained  in  his  cabin  and  to  him  was 
given  every  necessary  attention,  although  in  a  non-com- 


220     The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay. 

mittal  way,  the  reason  for  which  he  could  not  under- 
stand. 

The  third  day  his  jailer  announced  that  he  was  suffi- 
ciently recovered  to  go  on  deck,  and  after  an  hour  in  the 
sea  air  he  was  given  another  berth.  This  one,  however, 
proved  to  be  less  securely  fastened  than  his  former  one, 
and  during  the  night  he  was  able  to  open  the  door  and 
pass  out.  Approaching  the  captain's  cabin  he  heard 
voices,  and  stopping,  listened. 

"We  worked  it  well  again — the  United  States  cove 
has  made  his  inspection  and  learned  nothing." 

"Six  months  more  of  rest,"  responded  a  female  voice. 

"Yes,  but  what  are  we  to  do  with  this  fellow  we  picked 
up?" 

"Are  you  growing  weak?  Drownd  him!"  in  the  same 
cool  female  voice. 

Silence  followed,  and  after  a  time  my  friend  knew  that 
both  speakers  were  asleep.  Although  the  reason  for  his 
imprisonment  was  still  as  much  a  mystery  as  ever,  the 
short  conversation  he  had  heard  gave  him  to  understand 
that  foul  play  was  to  be  expected,  and  he  took  advantage 
of  his  liberty  to  explore  the  vessel.  After  creeping  about 
for  half  an  hour  he  heard  a  man's  voice,  and  approach- 
ing the  place  from  which  the  sound  came  asked  who 
was  there.  The  reply  nearly  took  my  friend's  breath 
away. 

"I'm  the  captain  of  this  vessel,  and  that  she-devil's  hus- 
band!" 

A  conversation  in  undertones  ensued,  and  the  follow- 


The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay.     221 

ing  story  was  told  by  the  man  in  prison  in  that  strange 
ship. 

"Ten  years  ago  I  came  to  this  vessel,  the  Beacon  Light 
of  Half  Moon  Bay,  as  its  captain.  I  brought  with  me 
my  wife  and  my  best  friend.  A  year  passed  happily,  and 
then  I  overheard  a  conversation  between  my  wife  and  my 
friend.  I  heard  that  my  wife  loved  him.  Aye,  worse, 
that  he  was  her  first  lover,  and  that  I  had  been  duped  into 
hiring  him  as  my  assistant. 

"The  next  day  I  met  the  guilty  pair  and  charged  them 
with  their  sin.  They  said  not  a  word,  but  that  night  I 
was  drugged  and  caged. 

"For  a  year  I  have  been  in  this  cage  and  they  live  as 
man  and  wife.  Every  six  months  the  United  States  in- 
spector comes  to  visit  the  ship  and  bring  provisions,  but 
by  some  means  they  have  always  been  able  to  hide  me 
from  him. 

"Go  back  to  your  berth,  lock  the  door  and  appear  ig- 
norant of  everything.  But  escape  w^hen  you  can  and 
bring  me  help." 

Such  was  the  substance  of  the  story  told  my  friend. 
He  crept  back  and  managed  to  leave  his  door  as  he  found 
it.  The  next  night  he  left  his  berth  again,  secured  a 
small  boat  and  left  for  the  shore.  With  what  success,  you 
know. 

We  stayed  in  Spanishtown  the  next  day,  and  there  was 
a  terrible  storm.  An  old  greaser  said  it  was  the  worst 
he  had  ever  seen.     The  waves  beat  high  and  the  wind 


222     The  Beacon  Ship  of  Half  Moon  Bay. 

blew  a  hurricane.  At  night  we  saw  the  beacon  ship  mov- 
ing in  a  strange  manner,  and  suddenly  its  light  went  out. 

The  next  morning  boats  were  sent  .out  and  they  picked 
up  two  dead  bodies.  One  was  a  woman  and  the  other  a 
man,  but  the  vessel  went  down. 

A  month  after,  I  visited  Spanishtown  and  found  the 
wreckers  busy.  They  had  been  searching  for  the  beacon 
ship  and  had  found  her,  and  in  her  they  had  found  a 
cage,  and  a  man's  body  in  it. 


THE  END. 


